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Pkoblems of Akt L. C. Habermeyer 391 

Recognition Louise Manning Hodgkins 396 

"Pet Lamb" Effie Banta/91 397 

Reality L. C. B.,'91 404 

Olga's Fairy Stoky Josephine P. Simrall, '53 404 

The Song of the Lotus Julia S. Buffington, '94 409 

A Mat Day Mary Ella Chapin, '55 409 

A Baby M . C. Roberts, '97 411 

When the Mist Came up fbom the Mabsh 414 

Compabison of the Atmospheees of " As You Like it" 

and " Twelfth Night " Mary C. Adams, * 95 414 

My Glance of Summer Fibe 416 

Laura Lyon Williams 417 

" Shobt Day and Long Remembbance "... Katharine Lee Bates 417 

Editorial 419 

The Free Press 421 

Exchanges 427 

Book Reviews 431 

Society Notes 432 

College Notes 434 

Alumna Notes 438 

College Bulletin 440 

Marriages, Births, Deaths 440 

Entered in the Post-office at Wellesley, Mass., as second-class matter 



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47 Temple P laee > BOSBOJf. 

Vol. II. WELLESLEY, MAY 12, 1894. No. 8. 










The Wellesley Magazine is published monthly, from October to June, by a board of editors chosen 
from the Senior Class. 

All literary contributions may be sent to Miss M. G. Caldwell, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

All items of college interest, and communications to be inserted in the department of Free Press, will be 
received by Miss Sarah C. Weed, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

All alumna news should be sent to Miss Maude R. Keller, Wellesley, Mass. 

Advertising business is conducted by Miss Florence M. Tobey, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Subscriptions to the Magazine and other business communications in all cases should be sent to Miss Helen 
R. Stahr, Wellesley College, Wellesley, Mass. 

Terms, $2.00 per year; single copies 25 cents. 


THE question, What is the aim and purpose of art? is in these days so 
much the more important, that we often meet with the most perverted 
views on the subject. He who will not go through the world, as it were, 
with closed eyes, must take some attitude towards this question. Is the 
mere reproduction of nature, or is beauty, the aim of art? 

The Naturalistic school strives for an absolutely truthful reproduction of 
nature, imitating it in all its details. Do they fulfil thereby the aim and 
purpose of art, and do they succeed in producing real works of art? I do 
not hesitate to answer this question with a decided No. They make the 
great mistake of considering technique, that is, entire command of material, 
as art. Technique is doubtless of great importance, but technique alone 
creates no work of art, but only dead copies of nature. This is by no means 


the aim of art. A work of art must never, can never be lifeless imitation 
of nature, but must rather be spiritualized nature. 

It is the task of art to perpetuate the highest forms of existence, and thus, 
as it were, to annihilate time. But the moment of perfection in nature is 
always brief, too brief to admit of copying. Herein, then, is the artist a 
prophet, in that he is able to conceive this highest perfection and reproduce 
it for contemporary and succeeding generations in outward, visible form. 

How is it with the productions of the Naturalists? Every exposition gives 
us abundant answer. We go into an exposition. A picture of so-called 
"still-life" meets our eye. A table-cloth, oysters in and out of the shell, a 
plate of bread, a flask and glasses — all so accurately reproduced that the 
beholders are well-nigh beside themselves in their admiration of the appear- 
ance of reality. Is this a work of art? No. 

We approach another picture, which represents a dirty old woman with 
many folds and wrinkles, depicted with such fidelity to nature that we really 
fancy we see before us an ugly old woman. But the face suggests nothing 
further to us. Is this a work of art? No. Why not? Because it only 
imitates nature to the point of deception, feigns life where there is none. 

Opposite these pictures hangs fine by Sichel, representing Medea. The 
face is thoroughly modern, and to one familiar with Berlin studios, recalls 
at once the face of a well-known model. Not a suggestion of the historic 
Medea. However, the drapery is so wonderfully painted that we think it 
hardly possible we have not before us real silk brocade. Is this a work of 
art? It is only the clever reproduction of clothes. 

Another picture strikes our eye — a portrait. The background is gold bro- 
cade. Supporting herself in a sentimental pose beside a high, sculptured 
chair upholstered with red velvet, stands a lady, dressed in white satin. We 
cannot help admiring the brocade, the velvet, the satin, — the face is of 
little interest to us. Is this a work of art? No. 

Next to this picture we see a Diana, a handsome, healthy woman in the 
costume and with the equipments of Diana. Is this a work of art ? No; it 
is, in fact, a masquerade. 

Not far away is another picture, named Venus, a faithful study of the 
nude, which may appeal to the senses of some, but will bring to the lips of 
the true artist the words of Michel Ang-elo: — 



" Woe to him who dares in blindness and in lust 
Beauty from her height to spheres of sense degrade ; 
She to heaven bears the soul whose love is pure." 

Still life, studies of heads, studies of drapery, studies of the nude, have 
certainly their justification as studies of nature. The artist should and 
must study nature, so study it, that he knows it in all its details. He must 
learn, too, to make a true copy, without any idealizing of the living model, 
not because copying nature is the aim of art, hut because before he can 
idealize nature, as true art demands, he must accurately know nature. 
Schiller says: "The artist can use no single element of reality as he finds 
it. His work must be ideal in all its parts. As a whole, however, it must 
be true to nature." 

For this reason, photographs and wax figures, in spite of their sometimes 
deceptive imitation of nature, are not works of art. They are neither art 
nor nature. They are less. They lack that embodiment of an idea which 
alone could make them works of art ; on the other hand, they are not 
nature, for they can only repeat as a fragment accidental phenomena, with- 
out their natural completeness. The spirit of the creator does not speak to 
us, as must necessarily be the case in every genuine art work, for art is a 
subjective conception of an idealized reality, a principle which is the central 
doctrine of the recent movement in art known as subjectivism, whose great- 
est prophet, by the way, is Whistler, an American living in Paris. The 
artist lets his own spirit or the spirit which inspires him speak to us through 
the forms of nature, in the expression of a definite idea. For this very rea- 
son representations of one and the same object by different artists of the 
same age and nation, speak to us differently according to the spirit, charac- 
ter, genius or talent of the artist. 

The portrait affords least play for artistic subjectivity, because the aim 
here is fidelity to nature. Many people are of the opinion that a life-sized 
photograph, if it should be colored, would be equal to the best portrait from 
an artist-hand. But this is not so, for photography gives only a picture of 
a certain side and of a certain momentary mood, which perhaps changes in 
the next instant. It may be thought that the portrait gives no more. That 
is a great mistake. Even several dozen life-sized photographs, taken in dif- 
ferent moods and attitudes, give no collective impression corresponding to 


a good portrait. Why not? Because there is lacking the unity in multi- 
plicity, the permanent underlying the changing is not brought out. A por- 
trait, if it is a work of art, cannot be replaced by a hundred mechanical 
copies. The true artist never copies mechanically, as does photography, but 
seeks to fix the permanent in the changing, and to solve the problem 
of expressing the soul through the body, so that the portrait shows the 
man, not as he presents himself at single moments, but as he is in his inmost 
nature. The artist creates a unified picture, comprehending all essential 
features of the personality. 

In order to make this quite clear to ourselves, let us watch a great artist 
at his work. After the question of costume is decided, the painter poses 
his model ; that is, he brings him into the right perspective distance and 
into the most favorable light. He sketches with rapid lines the proportions, 
then takes palette and brushes and begins to paint, meanwhile busily 
conversing with the model. He seeks to interest him, touching on agreeable 
and disagreeable subjects, to bring to the surface even the secrets of the 
inner life, over which conventionality and good breeding throw a veil, and 
uses for his work just that moment in which the model forgets himself 
in an interesting subject. This continues a week or two, and since the good 
portrait-painter is of necessity a psychologist, he succeeds, in the time given 
him, not only in making a faithful copy of nature, but in expressing, through 
the outer form, the soul ; that is, he paints a picture independent of all the 
changes of time, in which, twenty years later, the character, the soul of the 
man, the permanent in the changing, speaks to us. 

Let us take as an example Lenbach's portraits of the old Emperor, of Bis- 
marck and of Moltke ; in which the intellectual and the spiritual are so 
clearly mirrored in the physical that if all histories should be lost, these 
pictures would reveal to the after-world the essential nature of the men rep- 
resented. Had Lenbach seized onl}' upon a particular moment, as, for 
instance, Gussow has done in the well-known portrait of Fran Reichheim, 
which the sound wit of the Berlin populace condemned with a jest, referring 
to its everlasting smile, lie would have given no complete picture, and would 
thus not fully have accomplished the task of making the portrait a true 
work of art. 


Not only in the portrait do we require a unified picture, but in all artistic 
representations. We demand also, however, when we pass out of the nar- 
row sphere of the painted and sculptured portrait, something more, — an 
idea spiritualizing nature. The more significant the idea, the higher stands 
the work of art, if the form corresponds with the idea. Everything which 
appears in the picture has its justification only in so far as it is connected 
with the underlying idea and has reference to it ; all the separate parts must 
work together to harmony, or they have no right to exist. If, for example, 
in a landscape, a figure is introduced, which takes away our attention from 
the landscape, this is false, unless it heightens the effect by bringing out a 
contrast. Contrasts ma} r be very effective in all departments, but are justi- 
fied only if they thus heighten the effect presented, expressing the similarity 
in difference. The whole must speak to us in its unity, it must compel us 
to recreate within ourselves the conception of the artist, to a certain degree, 
to develop it further, for therein is found the essence of aesthetic enjoyment 
of art. 

Take, for instance, Pigelheim's picture, "The Blind Girl." A young 
Christian who has been blinded feels her way with a staff across a field of 
brilliant poppies. In her hand she holds a large earthen water-pitcher. The 
face is uplifted, the lids closed over the sightless eyes. The sky has 
shed its richest color-charm over the scene through which the blind 
girl passes. The contrast explains itself. In the sublime beauty of the 
blind girl, in her evident elevation above this earth, in the spiritual splen- 
dor which she seems to see with the eyes of her spirit, lies the reconciliation 
of opposites which we demand of the work of art. 

The idealization must, however, not go so far as to change the very char- 
acter of that which is represented. If, for instance, Breton paints a peasant 
listening enraptured to the song of a lark, he paints no longer true peasant 
nature. Millet has well said of his pictures, that he represents those peas- 
ant girls who are on the point of ceasing to be peasants. I do not mean to 
say that peasants have no feeling for beauty, but I know that with them 
the sense of the beautiful is seldom conscious, and never rises to rapture. 
And if Breton, furthermore, paints peasants picturesquely dressed and artis- 
tically posed, studio peasants, he never can rival Millet's pictures, which 
show us the true peasant in the seriousness of his life, a life colorless, sim- 


pie and yet great, as lie toils in the sweat of his brow for bread for himself 
and his fellows. 

Here we have the solution of the problem of art, the expression of a thought 
in idealized nature. Works of art like these lift us above every-day life, in 
which a more or less narrow round of occupations allows us to develop only 
one, or at most a few of the inherent powers of mind and soul. They enable 
us to live a fuller life, lifting ourselves into the sphere of unselfish feeling. 
They make us feel the infinite in the finite, and bring us thus nearer to the 
heart of Him who is the source of all beauty, God. 

L. C. M. Habekmeyei;. 

" Unfading Hope's immortal power." 
How will you know me in another sphere, 

When reft of earthly form we two may meet, 

And memory wooing back some vision sweet 
Of other life and hours that once were dear, 
Endeavoring in vain to bring more near 

Joys as elusive now as they were fleet, 

Find in that realm beyond earth's chill or heat 
All unrenewed the magic lent her here ? 

Perchance in that illuminated hour, 

Though naught returned to dust from dust revives, 
And earthly loves fail resurrection power, 

The soul of our sweet intercourse survives 
To find in radiant common ecstacy 
Our hopes have put on immortality. 

Louise Manning Hodgkins. 



{( EDUT Mrs. Green is a good woman,'' said the doctor's wife slowly, 
\—J "I don't think she intended to slight you." 

" Good?" said Hannah Brockaway. "Good folks does a sight of queer 
things. I knew well enough what she meant. I can tell ABC when I 
see it. Oh, they're all alike. If you have on good clothes they smile on 
you sweet and hope you'll come often, hut if you dress kinder shabby, they 
have terrible hard work remembering your name.'' 

Hannah Brockaway set her lips closely together and stitched dowu a long 
seam before she spoke again. 

" It's a queer world," said she. 

" The world is a good deal as we take it," said the other. Her tone was 
slightly didactic. 

"I aint findin' no fault with the world," said Hannah, with an answering 
shade of resentment. " I aint no call to. It's a good enough world, I 
guess. Only some has it padded pretty comfortable and some has it kinder 

The doctor's wife hesitated. Some suhtle emharrassment of happiness 
checked her innocent sermonizing. She looked at the unlovely figure 
opposite with a childlike pity in her clear young eyes. Then she bent over 
the little garment in her lap. 

" If there was only something you could love" she murmured. 

Hannah caught up the words with a sharp rudeness. "I've had enough 
of that foolery," said she. " It don't pay. I've just made up my mind not 
to care for nothing. It's the only way to get along. You just fling your- 
self down for folks to walk over, and you don't care at first. Bless you, 
you don't care. You're so glad they're getting things if you aint. Only by 
and by, when you look for a hit of gratitude, it's ' Keep away, you're all dirt.' " 

" It isn't always that way," said the doctor's wife, gently. 

" Mayhe not," said Hannah. " It's heen the way with me. I've had 
things hard. I suppose you think I talk queer, hut I've had things hard. 
There's my sister Sally. I wouldn't say it to everybody, but you've spoke 
about it and you know how 'tis. There wasn't anything I wouldn't do for 
Sally; and when she was a little thing she wouldn't go to any one hut me. 


And time and again I've gone without ray dinner to get her a bit of ribbon 
or something like other folks. I always meant Sally should have things 
different from me. She was pretty, Sally was ; and she had the takingest 
ways. Folks liked her. And now she's ridin' in her carriage, and me 
workin' ray eyes out over store things. And I didn't ask her for money. 
I'd rather starve than beg, even of my own sister. But I went to her and 
I asked her for some work. I knew she was havin' sewin' done out of the 
house. And she sent down word she was busy and couldn't see me. I 
aint been near her since. I suppose it's his doin's. He said I shouldn't 
have a cent of his money. And I don't want it, land knows. I never could 
abide him and his airs. Sakes ! you'd have thought he was made of some 
brand-new, special kind of dust ! He was way up, he was, and you couldn't 
touch him with a ten-foot pole. For my own part, I don't like chiny bric-a- 
brac sort of men. But Sally, she never had no stuff to her. Land, if he 
told her he liked her better without her nose, she'd up and cut it off. She 
was that kind. But I guess if it had been me, and Sally'd been avvantin' 
anything, I'd like to see fifty husbands keep me from doin' it." 

But the doctor's wife did not smile. She wished she had directed the 
conversation on a less unhappy theme. She thought Hannah had been 
hardly used, but she believed it did her harm to talk of it. In that she was 
mistaken. Speech eased the pent up bitterness, and Hannah's next words 
had a softened tone. 

" I suppose maybe t'aint the right way to feel," she said. " I suppose 
like enough we've got to have something. I guess we're made that way. 
All is, kinder seems like it wasn't meant I should ha\e anything, and I 
might as well get used to it. This world aint our abidin'-place, and I dare 
say it'll all be made up to us some day." And Hannah sighed drearily, not 
that she doubted the reality of her consolations, but because they took but 
vague hold of her imagination. 

"I had a bird once," she went on, after a pause. "I thought a sight of 
him. He used to fly all about the room, and look at me with his little black 
eyes. And a cat got in one day and got him. I'd been out and I came 
home and found nothing but some feathers on the floor. I suppose it was 
a judgment on me for getting him, for I'd had dreadful work to get along 
that winter, and I owed a man some money I couldn't pay. But I just 


didn't care. I went out and bought him. It was right after Christmas, 
and I'd had an awful day. You know Christmas is the worst day of the 
year to me, specially when I've been going out and aint no work on hand. 
I hadn't that year, and I'd been over to the park all the morning. I kinder 
like to go over there. Seems like you was a part of things, seeing all the 
people and all. And there's other women walking about by themselves 
and you don't feel queer. It was a lovely day and I'd had a real nice time, 
only when I got home I wished I hadn't gone, it was so dreadfully lonesome. 
And I got to thinkin' about things until I was so blue I could have gone 
out and hung myself. And then I went and saw Miss Sharpe awhile. She 
didn't seem to mind it a bit, and her room was sort of warm and nice and I 
felt better. And she had a bird hanging in the window, and when I got 
home I thought about the bird, and how it would be company. So the next 
day I went and got me one. I suppose 'twas foolish, for I'd been scrapin' 
along on a dollar a week all the year, and I spent most that on the bird. 
But I felt dreadful when he died. Seemed like it was Sally and everything 
else I'd ever cared for all lyin' together in a heap of feathers. I guess my 
eyes must have been red when I went to church that night. People looked 
at me kinder sharp. I don't know what they'd thought if they'd known I 
I was making so much fuss about a bird!" 

" One does get attached to the little things," said the doctor's wife. " I 
remember we had a bird once that was killed. It fell from a window in its 
cage. I think I cried about that myself." 

"Yes?" said Hannah, indifferently. "And then I just made up my mind 
that it was enough sight easier in this world not to care for things at all, 
then you aint disappointed." 

She turned to her work with a summary air, while the doctor's wife made 
a silent resolve that as soon as she could get out to buy it Hannah Brocka- 
way should have another bird. The kindly purpose, however, was never 
fulfilled ; for that very afternoon, moved by a sudden impulse, Hannah 
stepped into a bird-store and bought Pet Lamb. 

She carried him home a little uneasily. "A body's got to have some- 
thing!" she said as she set him down. It was her tribute to the little god 
Consistency. And then she folded up the paper and string with unusual care 
and went to bed in the dark. It was her offering to the little god Economy. 



When she awoke the next day, it was with a sense of pleasant expectancy 
not common to her monotonous life. In the gray of the early morning she 
could just distinguish the tiny thing hopping from perch to perch and twit- 
tering to himself with the subdued notes with which singing creatures 
respond to half-lights. "Pet Lamb," she said softly to herself, "Pet 
Lamb !" and he had no other name. 

As soon as she could she opened the door to give him his liberty, because 
caged friends are but scant company. But Pet Lamb shrank into a corner 
and chirped miserably at her and the open door. He had no notion of 
exchanging his safe conventionalities for a strange and dangerous freedom. 
With all her kind intentions, Hannah was to him an unfamiliar monster, 
and her room a vast unknown in which a tiny speck of song and feathers 
might be quite swallowed up and lost. 

Hannah shut the door with a disappointed little snap. "I suppose he's 
going to be wild," she said, "It'll be just my luck. Goldy flew out the first 

However, Pet Lamb soon redeemed himself. Venturing tentatively to 
the edge of his cage one da}', he discovered at one delightful sweep that 
wings were of more use to a bird than he had supposed. After that his 
cage became a barely tolerated sleeping place. With all the ardor of fresh 
enthusiasm he explored every nook and cranny of Hannah's room, and 
Hannah and he became very good friends. 

She often told him that next to Goldy he was the cutest bird that ever 
was ; and the reservation itself was but the instinct of loyalty to the 
departed. In her heart she loved Pet Lamb the best, for his predecessor 
had been a pensive bird, much given to mooning b} r himself and viewing 
the rest of the world with a kind of abstract disdain. But Pet Lamb was of 
a social nature, fond of company and possessed of a charming readiness to 
discuss his neighbor's affairs. 

He had, to be sure, his occasional fits of loftiness when he would fly to 
the top of the tall post of the old-fashioned bedstead and perch there in 
lonely majesty like a pillar saint or a philosopher absorbed in the blessed- 
ness of the contemplative life. Yet certain humorous side glances ever 
betrayed that his distraction from things mundane was less absolute than 
might appear. He kept one eye open for his dish of bread and milk, his 



piece of sweet .apple, Hannah and the sewing machine, which offered him a 
perpetual challenge to duets musical. He would fly down presently, and 
with much shrill satisfaction show that impertinent mechanism what 
genuine music meant. Or he would alight at Hannah's side to carry on 
with her protracted conversations. 

She talked to him a good deal. She told him of the weariness of her 
sleepless nights, of the difficulties of getting work, of the slights of careless 
prosperity, or the airs of the Rohinson family. Pet Lamb listened to all 
with unvarying complaisance nor did his answering chirps ever pique her 
with a human irrelevancy. 

In return he related, no doubt, his candid opinions of the English spar- 
rows who arranged their domestic and social squabbles just outside his 
window ; he confided his hopes in regard to the yellow bird that lived 
behind the mirror, who seemed not indifferent to his advances, yet ever 
interposed to his ardor an impenetrable and incomprehensible wall of 
reserve ; he sang to her sweet little songs that smacked of tropic sunshine 
and his far away ancestral forests. 

He could be as full of wiles, too, as a coquettish girl. He knew all the 
arts of the professional lady-killer. He practised them all on Hannah as the 
only thing feminine near him, and he would strut about her chair with a 
comical mixture of self-complacency and ingratiation, while sidelong glances 
and long drawn notes pointed his appreciation of his own diplomacy. It 
was, however, a total waste of energy, for Hannah's heart was but a traitor's 

She never wearied, indeed, of Pet Lamb or his doings. When she was 
from home he formed the staple of her conversation ; and when she could 
get no daily engagements and was forced to fall back upon laborious and 
ill-paid "store-work," she found in Pet Lamb's society an ample compensa- 
tion. And he repaid her fondness in kind. He ate from her fingers. He 
followed her about the room. He forgot for her sake all the traditions of 
bird-kind and sang to her by lamplight. And in thp early springtime, when 
strange longings expanded his bird soul with an unknown pain, it was 
Hannah's voice alone that could arouse him from Ins apathy of single 


Every night, when she put him into his cage, she said as if it had been 
an incantation to charm away mishap, " I suppose he'll die. It'll be just 
my luck." 

But Pet Lamb did not die. He lived and flourished. He ate, drank and 
was merry, as singing birds should be. When a parting came, it was because 
Hannah herself gave him away. How she could have summoned up resolu- 
tion enough to do it, has always been a mystery. It seemed so to herself 
when the glow of generosity had died away, and the pangs of deprivation 
set in. 

It happened in this way. Coming home early from work one day, she 
discovered a small figure crouched outside her door. She recognized it at 
once. It was the little cripple that lived on the floor below. He had stolen 
upstairs to listen to Pet Lamb, who was holding a private rehearsal within ; 
and he lifted intent though apologetic eyes at Hannah's approach. He was 
pitifully deformed, and his face had the sharpened and precocious look which 
children get from suffering, or too intimate acquaintance with the seamy 
side. He had, withal, a shrinking and deprecating air, as if he would excuse 
his presence in a world in which he was manifestly of so little use. 

Hannah did not like children. They annoyed and alarmed her. But the 
bo} r 's helplessness was appealing. 

"What are you doing here?" she asked, not unkindly. 

" It's the bird," said Willy, timidly. " It's the bird that sings swater than 
me uncle's fiddle." 

This was enough for Hannah. With Pet Lamb as a link, an intimacy 
soon grew up between them. And often the boy would escape from the 
rude health and noisy activity of the life below stairs to Hannah's quiet 
room. There he lay and listened to Pet Lamb's music or picked out half- 
tunes on a little flute he had. Pet Lamb accepted a new admirer with the 
most gracious condescension, and Hannah grew fonder of him every day. 

But alas, there came a time when moving day rolled round, and Willy 
came upstairs to bid an unwilling good-bye to Hannah and Pet Lamb. With 
the gentlest of forefingers, he stood stroking the bird, his misshapen little 
figure dingier than ever with the dust of the packing, streaks of tears still 
on his cheeks, the soft lips rigid with a pitiful control. And he met all 
Hannah's attempts at consolation with blank young hopelessness. 


" Willy," she said, at last, " Willy, how would you like to have Pet Lamb 
for your very own ? " 

And Willy had nodded eagerly, with childhood's narrowness of vision, 
and Hannah herself had caged the bird and given it into his hand. Nor did 
the full enormity of what she had done dawn upon her until the last irrevo- 
cable little footfall had sounded on the stair. 

" My ! " she gasped out then. " My ! and the woman downstairs is a dread- 
ful careless thing ! " 

It was a hard pillow that Hannah slept on that night, and the next day 
dawned vacantly enough. She rose early and got to work. 

"I don't suppose they'll ever think to wrap him up," she said, forlornly, 
as she opened the window and felt the raw wind that was putting the cal- 
endar to scorn. "Folks are such fools ! " 

If the words had a sting, she did not own it, but she sighed as she set the 
treadles whirring. It was about mid-morning, and she was half-way in a 
long seam, when a knock startled her. She rose and went crabbedly to 
the door. 

One of the children from the floor below stood there, a round-faced, red- 
handed maiden, wearing a sheepish and commissioned smile. She had a 
bird-cage in her hand, and she thrust it awkwardly towards Hannah, saying, 
" Ma don't like to take your bird away, Miss Brockaway ! " 

But Hannah drew herself stiffly up. " She ain't takin' him away," said 
she. "I gave him myself to Willy. I'm very glad he should have him." 
Only her fingers twitched. 

The child hesitated, confused, between Miss Brockaway's manner and her 
own positive instructions. 

" He sings so loud, he wakes the baby," she blurted out, in final 

" Oh, very well ! " said Hannah, and she stretched her hand for the cage 
with a feverish imitation of dignity. " If he ain't wanted ! I never thought 
Pet Lamb was one of the screechin' kind myself ! " 

The girl reddened, and shifted her feet uneasily. " He's teething," she 
stammered out, unhappily. 

Hannah glared at her. She would have liked to take her by the shoulders 
and shove her down-stairs. She wanted to shut the door and have Pet Lamb 


all to herself. And when the child had gone at last, she hurriedly opened 
the cage door. Pet Lamb Hew out with an indignant flutter, and settled 
himself upon the high bed-post. There he began comj osedly to plume him- 
self. But Hannah sat down on the edge of the bed, and took hold of the 
post with trembling hands. There were tears in her eyes. 

" Pet Lamb ! " she whispered. " Pet Lamb ! Did he want to come back to 
his ownty-donty Hannah?" 

Effie Bant a, '91. 


Too long my heart had been a pleasure-hall 

Where gold delight was drunk in cups of laughter, 

And tapestries of dreaming hung the wall 
With Oberons from polished floor to rafter. 

The walls are bared, the revelry is done, 

The wine lies spilled, the laughter-goblets shattered, - 
I broke the shutters for the imperious sun 

And all the fairie host was fled and scattered! 

I rent the portals for the Lord of light — 

But ah! him followed countless shadows creeping 

Of doubts and dreads and horrors born from night — 
Of nameless things that fill the world with weeping. 

L. C. B., '91. 

(A fragment from real life.) 

BEHIND an old, weather-stained door, up three flights of stairs, along a 
narrow hallway, at the very top of the gloomy tenement house, lay 
Olga's fairyland. These two bare rooms would seem, perchance, all unlike 
the childhood realm of love and beauty to those under the spell of the 
wicked witch of Disbelief, those whose world-weary eyes see only the dis- 
mal things of life, and whose world-weary hearts are full of darkness and 
unrest, but then they, and all such sad ones, being the victims of a malign 
enchantment, can never hope to understand the mysteries of fairydom. 
Happily, some there are whose eyes are still open to the truth, who see life 
as it really is, and for such our story is written. 


The dark little room at the back was not, indeed, a part of the fairy king- 
dom proper ; it might rather be regarded as the dungeon of the wicked old 
giant, who in his youth forgot how to love, and so lived miserable ever 
after. The fact that it was situated at the top of the house, instead of far 
down beneath it, is only one of the queer things that occur in all fairy tales. 

It was quite as dreadful as any dungeon ought to be, for there were big 
dark holes and cracks in it, through which the tormentors sent by the 
tyrant used to come sneaking and creeping in the long night hours ; one 
could not see them in the darkness, but one felt them, nevertheless, and oh, 
how they pierced and stung with their icy fangs ! 

Then in one corner was the cupboard where the wolf lived, a growling, 
snarling old monster, who barked angrily, and beat against the door, 
frightening all the royal court; sometimes he even came out — but that is 
too dreadful to tell about, even in a fairy tale with a giant in it, and fortu- 
nately it did not often happen. 

Now this dungeon opened right into the palace of the beautiful young 
princess, who was watched over and protected by the fairy godmother. 
Strange enough, if one of those people with the world-weary eyes should 
enter here, the} T would see only a big room with two large windows looking 
out over chimneys and house-top laundries and city smoke ; a bare room 
with no carpet on the floor, no pictures on the whitewashed walls, no orna- 
ment of any kind on the small, wooden mantel, that seemed to have a lowly, 
apologetic air for existing at all in connection with the empty brick fire- 
place underneath ; a scantily furnished room with just a few stiff, cane- 
bottomed chairs, and in one corner, just beneath the windows, a long, 
unvarnished table littered "when work was plenty" — people always work 
in fairyland though they don't always know it — with cloth and silk, tailor's 
wax and heavy irons, piles of half-finished coats, and other piles all carefully 
folded and ready to be taken to the store, and bending over them all the 
day and long into the night a stolid-faced man ironing, cutting, stitching, 
week days and Sundays too. 

So it all would appear to that most unfortunate individual in the power 
of the wicked faiiy of Disbelief, but the princess, of course, saw things in 
their true light! In the first place, she knew that everything about her was 
fashioned of pure gold, for did not the golden radiance come streaming in 


through the big windows, transforming into a likeness of itself all things on 
which it fell] — and it fell everywhere, even the far-off corners were not over- 
looked. It was really quite a clever idea of the fairy godmothers to send 
this golden shower down from the sky, where she lives, for the most part, 
among the clouds, a very -bright idea, and a great improvement on the old- 
fashioned, mechanical way of touching each separate and individual article 
with her wand. It is, indeed, a well proved fact that the older our old 
earth grows the wiser the fairy godmothers become, and the more capable 
of helping all the poor princesses who are kept in bondage by the wicked 

Then, too, the little princess knew that the earnest-eyed man bending 
over the golden table by the windows was none other than the royal king 
himself, who was attempting to solve the difficult problem of humanity, not 
by means of the propositions of political economy, not even by the axioms 
and maxims of social science, but, as a real king should, by true living and 
glad doing of that which it was given unto him to do. The sweet, bright- 
faced woman sitting at the other end of the long table was the little queen 
mother, and, no worthier sovereign could have been found in all the land 
of fairydom. She sewed too, — and cut and ironed, all work on the great prob- 
lem ; and she sang the while the sweet old songs of the Vaterland, and took 
ever the most loving care of the princess, and the littlest princess whose 
brown eyes had opened upon the wonders of the fairy universe only two 
short years ago. Our heroine, Princess Olga, was five }~ears old, not too 
young to recognize fairies when she saw them, and not so old but that the 
glory of babyhood still lingered in her wide blue eyes, in the curves and 
dimples of her mouth and chin and in the lisping of her baby tongue. 

So they lived all together in the palace, the king and the queen and the 
little princess and the littlest princess, and were as happy as kings and 
queens and princesses ought to be. Sometimes, it is true, they were cast 
into the dungeon, and sometimes the wolf beat loudly at the door, and some- 
times the wicked old World-giant threatened them from his gloomy abode, 
but happily they had a charm which was potent to mitigate all these evils. 
What the charm was may not be revealed, for the good fairy does not like 
to have her secrets disclosed, but at least we know that it was a kind of 
love potion, and that we may all have it just for the asking. 


What do princesses do to entertain themselves all day long? In old- 
fashioned tales they used to play with gulden balls, or take lessons in spinning 
from queer old women, or wear beautiful roses unlawfully stolen from magic 
gardens, but when the wise fairy godmothers discovered how much trouble 
such dangerous forms of amusement always brought about, they abolished 
them altogether, and introduced a less harmful set of games. So our modern 
princess, first of all, learned lessons, and that is always the best thing to do 
whether you are a member of the royal family or just a commoner. Fortu- 
nately, the little queen mother had been a school-mistress once, before she 
married the king, and so she was very, very wise. There is not mucli dif- 
ference between queens and school-mistresses, after all, when we come to 
think about it, since the best queens are always teachers, and the wisest 
teachers are queens. The greedy old queen who did nothing but eat bread 
and honey in the kitchen went out of date long ago, the world has no fond- 
ness for her any longer, and she is relegated to the dustiest, darkest corner 
of the book shelves ; and the birch rod teacher has lain at rest for many 
years under her own birch tree. Peace be with her, we have no use for her 

So our little princess studies all sorts of beautiful lessons, and the delight- 
ful part of it is that she thinks all the time that it is play, and she is as 
happy as the happy little birds, and she plays too, and imagines that it is 
work, and then she is as happy as the gay-winged butterflies of summer 
days. And all the while the littlest princess sits on the floor in the midst 
of the golden radiance. She catches at the golden motes, closes her tiny 
hands over them, and then peeps carefully within to see how many she has 
caught. How the baby laughter gurgles out when she finds the chubby fist 
quite empty. Alas! we "grown ups" catch after golden motes sometimes, 
and when we think we have quite a handful we look down and find — just 
nothing at all in the empty palm, only we do not laugh as the littlest prin- 
cess did. 

When the work and the play are all done the Princess Olga and the 
littlest princess stand beside the big window, and look out over the sunset 
country, across purple mountains and golden castles and long streets of 
silver, where war steeds prance, and knights in gleaming helmets ride by 
and the strange little cloud princes and princesses wave and beckon to the. 


little earth princesses down below. Sometimes the queen mother comes and 

stands beside them with her sewing in her hand, but she does not see the 

knights and steeds and silver streets; before her stretch out the pleasant 

meadows of the Vaterland, she hears the church bells ringing, and from afar 

comes the murmur of the Rhine mingling with the voices of the German 

Madchen : 

" Was ist des Deutschen Vaterland ? 
So nenne endlich mir das Land ! 
So weit die deutsche Zunge klingt, 
Und Gott im Himmel Lieder singt, 
Das soil es sein ; das, wackrer 
Deutscher nenne dein!" . . . 

And then it all fades away, quite away, and the brooding darkness hides 
the sunset realms. 

So this is Olga's fairy story. Not finished? no, it is only just begun, but 
the beginning is the most important part, — and the end is yet to be. No, 
there has not been a word about the prince, and the ogre has not appeared 
once on the scene, nor the fairy godmother, but they will all come by and 
by, and perhaps as the years pass there will be a longer tale to tell, though 
whether told or left among the unwritten records of the years, it will be a 
fairy stoiy just the same. There was a wise old poet once, a poet, though 
he never wrote in verse, and he tells us that 

" Every man's life is a fairy tale written by God's finger." 
So, looking into life with earnest eyes, even as a little child, we can read all 
the story, and, making its truth our own, be satisfied. 

Josephine P. Simrall, '93. 



Sleepily, sleepily, 
Swaying and shifting, 
Drowsily, drowsily, 
Nodding and drifting. 
Odors of spicy balms, 
Shadows of eastern palms, 
Cobwebs of phantasy, 
Twining and twisting. 
Out of a melody 
Spinning soft slumbers, 
Waving a mystery 
Into the numbers — 
The river's full bosom 
Beneath thee is swelling 
With passion's desire. 
Out of the east from 
His full-orbed dwelling 
Flings the moon-lover 
His passion's pure fire. 

Julia S. Buffington, '94. 

A MAY I) A Y. 

" O Auntie, come quick and see what I've found on the gate ! There's 
pansies, and pinks, and hepaticas, and blood root, and — and some arbutus, 
and — ' and everything ' ! " 

Jessie was likely to burst her small throat, she was so excited. And so, 
words failing to express her satisfaction in her discovery, she had finished 
with that familiar phrase and the exclamation point. 

Jessie was a small child, and the two long chestnut braids which hung 
down her back waved gaily back and forth most of the time, thereby losing 
for her many a gay ribbon, and causing, through knotty snarls, no end of 
tears and trouble. Her dancing blue eyes and the merry laugh which 
showed her white teeth and sweet dimples, won for her many friends. It is 
easy to agree with her aunt who declared, one day : " Jessie's hard to 
manage, but she's such a happy child that one must forgive her mischief, 
the little tease ! " So Jessie had her own sweet way most of the time ; 


turned up her small pug-nose at rebuke ; laughed if caught in mischief, and 
looked roguishly at auntie, when sent early to bed every Sunday night, when 
Mr. Amos Patterson came to call. 

Aunt Susan was forty ; but then, "you'd never know it." She had 
always tried to " keep her heart young," and, indeed, the neighbors had for 
for some years suspected the reason. As Mr. Walker — who lived next 
door — expressed it to the new minister: "There hain't been a Sunday 
night for nigh onto twenty years, that I hain't seen his buggy or sleigh a 
hitched at the Williamses' gate. 

Ere this, however ; nay, before Jessie's enthusiastic summons had been 
entirely finished, Miss Susan's tall, lithe figure might have been seen coming 
down the front steps of the trim white house. The Halls lived opposite, 
and kept the post-office in their front room. At mail time, when the old 
stage came thundering into town, a group of men and a few teams might 
always be seen in front of the small building. Then, while the mail was 
" changed," they gravely discussed the state of the weather, the crops or 
some other topic of such vital interest. But just now, the one long street 
of the village with its shading elms, boasted, as far as Miss Susan's keen, 
gray eyes could see, not even a pedestrian. One dark brown lock had 
escaped from her crimping pins, and was at the mercy of the cool spring 
wind ; but otherwise there was no sign of agitation, as she stepped firmly to 
the gate to see, " what nonsense that child was up to, now ! " 

She looked over to the post-office again, and when she saw that the blinds 
were not yet opened, she seized the small market basket, hurried round to 
the " back stoop," and sent Jessie over to " Mis' Walker'^ for some butter- 

It was the first day of May, and Miss Susan looked off into the clear blue 
sky. The fleecy clouds, touching lightly the verdant tops of our Vermont 
hills, seemed so merry that morning. But Miss Susan scarcely noticed. 
She looked down at her flowers, and fondled them "for a bit," forgetting 
the broom she'd left in the hall and the pies she'd left in the oven. 

"It was just such a morning as this," she murmured, as she gathered all 
the arbutus together. " He came to see father about something or other, he 
said, and yet he stood here a-talking to me. He brought me some May- 
flowers then, and I thought may be he'd got something on his mind — per 


haps he had ; but he never got rid of it, for that peddler came just the 
wrong minute, and I jumped up to go and find mother ; and when I came back 
Amos was gone. I remember it was kind of awkward the next Sunday 
night, but it haint seemed to make no difference sence. He's been as regular 
as the clock and as constant as the stars." Again, lost in revery, she gazed 
off into those clear blue depths. But all too soon she was rudely startled 
by the gate-latch click as Jessie came skipping down the path. 

Miss Susan was investigating the oven when the little girl came into the 
kitchen with her usual spring, this time upsetting the buttermilk on auntie's 
clean floor. But the expected scolding was evidently postponed, for auntie 
looked up and actually smiled, while Jessie wondered, and then smiled back 
said she "didn't mean to," and ran off to her play. 

Every little while all the forenoon, Miss Susan caught herself humming 
snatches of a little song. It was a song they two had learned at singing 
school together, the winter previous to that spring, round which clustered 
so many sad as well as happy memories. All day long the house was filled 
with the bright spring sunshine, and Jessie wondered again at dinner, why 
grandpa really had the custard-pie which had been so sharply refused him 
at breakfast time, because Aunt Susan had declared that she was "going to 
clean house, and couldn't bother with extras ! " 

But that evening when Jessie heard the early summons to bed, and a little 
later caught, through the blinds, a glimpse of that old-fashioned buggy 
down by the front gate, she nodded her wise little head emphatically. 
Jessie had made another discovery. 

Mary Ella Chapin, '95. 


PEOPLE never could understand how that white, delicate baby came to 
be one of the six Kreuzer children. Mr. Kreuzer was a handsome man, 
of the large, dark, florid type. Mrs. Kreuzer was an ugly woman of 
the small, dark, greasy type. Lizzie, the oldest girl, was dark and had dull 
eyes, cheeks that hung down with fat, and very large feet. Jakey who 
came next was three shades swarthier and twice as dull. The rest of the 
children were of much the same pattern until you came to Mary. In her 


was concentrated enough loveliness, both of disposition and of body, to have 
made the rest of the children tolerably attractive had it been distributed 
among them. Where did the baby get the delicate features, the skin like 
the petal of a tuberose, the blue, blue eyes, and the rings of golden hair, not 
buslry, obstinate curls, but silken rings that lay close to her head, seeming 
to express, in their soft clinging, the gentleness of her nature. Not because 
her mother had any aesthetic instinct, but because the dresses had been 
given to her, she often wore white. She had a pathetic, unbabylike way of 
not getting soiled by all the dirt around her. In this respect she was as 
unlike her brothers and sisters as she was in everything else. Mrs. Kreuzer 
washed up all six of them in the morning, if she had time, and then washed 
her hands of them by turning them out in the yard for the rest of the day. 
By night, in consequence of plentiful slices of bread and molasses, and 
indulgence in mud-pies, it could scarcely be discerned what manner of 
children they were. Mary, being but two and-a-half, was scarcely old 
enough to get any solid enjoyment out of mud-pies, but had she been older, 
one could not have imagined the slender, blue-veined hands at such 

That hot summer, she liked to sit for hours on the old stone flagging in 
front of the door. A big horse-chestnut threw its grateful shade over her, 
and she often raised her blue eyes, with a reflective look, to its rustling top, 
and then to the sky above it. The flies swarmed in and out of the room 
behind her ; oniony, garlicky, German smells came from it, and her strong, 
coarse, tyrannical brother Joe, aged four, often tumbled over her and hurt 
her in his eagerness to get more bread and molasses. She seldom made any 
outcry and she never seemed any more a part of these things, than would a 
star from heaven. 

Mrs. Ray, leading her own well-dressed, carefully tended children past 
the house one day, saw her sitting so and was struck by her pathetic beauty. 
She even spoke to the easy-going mother, who just then came out and com- 
mented on the child's loveliness and fairness. Mrs. Kreuzer seemed scarcely 
to have noticed it or thought of it. She caught Mary up for a moment as 
if with an impulse of affection, but quickly set her down again, saying, as 
she hurried away, that she must " make the supper." After that Mrs. Ray 
always looked for the baby when she went by. She generally saw her either 
before the door or at the gate, clasping the palings with her dainty hands, 


and looking up between them at the passers-by with eyes as blue as the sky 
above her. 

One day, when the summer was far advanced and it had not rained for a 
long time, when the roads were ankle deep with burning dust, and a dulled 
brown coat of blight and dust had covered Nature's green, little Mary lay 
with her cheek pressed against her favorite stone, the one cool spot she 
could find. Mrs. Ray, in passing, saw the little white figure stretched out, 
and went in the gate with a quick feeling that something was wrong. 
"Isn't your baby sick?" she asked of the mother who came to the door at 
the sound of her footsteps. Just then, Joe, charging through the door with 
the usual bread and molasses, stepped on the little outstretched hand. She 
seemed not to notice it, even. "I should have the doctor for her," said Mrs. 
Ray," lifting her with tender alarm. " I guess its only the warm weather," 
Mrs. Kreuzer replied, with a stolid good-natured sort of contempt for the 
American woman's foolishness, but with a note in her voice that warned her 
that she might be trespassing. 

All the next day the little cheek was pressed against the cool stone. 
Towards nightfall even the phlegmatic Mr. Kreuzer became alarmed and 
sent for the doctor. He could do nothing for her. She had been neglected 
too long, he said briefly. Before the sun had risen the next morning, some 
one had folded for Mary the hands that seemed too weary to fold them- 
selves, and placed in them the heavy-scented tuberoses that in their waxen 
whiteness seemed a part of her flesh. There were the candles, and the holy 
water, and the priest, and the other accessories of a Catholic funeral. Mrs. 
Kreuzer wailed loudly and shed tears by the side of the little grave, but com- 
ing home she was able to comment on her cheap mourning with interest, and 
to laugh with some appearance of enjoyment at the joke with which a good- 
natured neighbor tried to beguile her, as for the children, they seemed to have 
forgotten the day's unusual excitement as soon as they had their supper. 

" Mamma," said little Beulah Ray that night, when her mother had heard 
her prayers and was sitting by her bed in the moonlight, " why did God 
give Mrs. Kreuzer such a pretty baby when He knew she wouldn't love 
her?" I don't know, dear," said the mother, with a tremor in her voice. 
She sat for a long time in the moonlight, trying to find the answer to this 
question. She did not find it that night, nor lias she ever found it. 

M. C. Roberts, '97. 


When the mist came up from the marsh last night, 
The moon hung low in the fading light 

Her golden how in the western sky; 

A glow remained where the sunsets die, 
When the mist came up from the marsh. 

When the mist came up from the marsh last night, 
The tangled reeds from the mantle white 

Stared out like thoughts thro' the mist of years, 
And the evening wind had a sound of tears, 
When the mist came up from the marsh. 



IN comparing the atmospheres of the two plays, As You Like It an d 
Twelfth Night, let us first see where the scenes are laid. The former 
is out of doors, is full of woodland associations; we hear the songs of the 
birds, the babbling of the brook; we see the gently swaying trees and the 
beautiful flowers. It is a truly pastoral scene; the air is full of poetry, 
the winds blow undisturbed by the turbulent passion of the world outside. 
All is quiet and restful, tuned to the magic harmony of this charmed spot. 

The scene of Twelfth Night, on the contrary, is laid in-doors. It is a 
picture of city life ; the hot breath of the multitude stifles us. To be sure, 
there is poetry in Twelfth Night, but it is introduced, is not part of the 
very nature and fibre of the plaj^, as in As You Like It. 

Then to consider the plots — how different they are! The one truly 
ideal, the interest lying chiefly in the characters and sentiments ; the other 
fanciful, but with the interest centered in plot and situation. Although in 
As You Like It, we find a Nature composed of incongruities, yet we do not 
feel that it is unreal or unnatural ; for the magic poetry of the place per- 
vades all. 

The seriousness of As You Like It is not sad or melancholy, not passion- 
ate, but blithe, healthy and natural ; while in Twelfth Night we find the 
Duke lackadaisical ; Oliver artificial, and, in general, the characters with 


none of the bird-like notes of those of As You Like It. In As You Like It, 
poetry predominates ; it breathes through everything, and not only is it 
deep, but also fanciful and sprightly. Poetry, as I have said, is not native 
to Twelfth Night, and when it does occur, it is only sober. There are no 
charming songs like 

" O Mistress Mine, where are you roaming? " 
but still, in all Shakespeare nothing can be found finer than Viola's charac- 
ter, especially in her description of her father's daughter, or in her descrip- 
tion of Oliver. 

Perhaps the key-note of the two plays will be found in the comparison of 
Rosalind and Viola. Rosalind is full of blithe playfulness, while Viola 
assumes it, for she is all seriousness. She cares only for the proprieties of 
her real character, and does not carry out her disguise so well as Rosalind, 
for her heart does not beat easily in this strange costume ; "she plays a part, 
and we never forget it is only a part." On the other hand, Rosalind is 
anxious to carry her assumed character well, and although her heart flutters 
and faints, yet she is always striving to act out her role. 

In love these two characters are very different. Viola's love is deep, 
silent, patient, neither asking nor seeking any reward. She is sweet and 
tender with none of the saucy pertness of Rosalind. Yet Rosalind's love is 
just as sincere, in spite of all her roguishness and mischief. 

The humor of the two plays reveals very different atmospheres. In As 
You Like It we find caprice and fancy, the humor is toned down; all the 
fun is gay, sprightly, full of whims. Could anything be more fascinating 
than the jests of Touchstone, or the pranks of Rosalind? In Twelfth 
Night, the humor is broad, rollicking, boisterous. There are many practical 
jokes and drunken catches by Sir Toby when he falls into one of his " par- 
oxysms of mirth." We have comic effect, the mad-cap frolic. Yet the 
"high-fantastical" Sir Andrew, the empty-headed echo of Sir Toby, affords 
us, in his very harmless aspiring, much amusement. In both plays the 
humor is perfectl} r spontaneous, although so different, and all the characters 
indulge in fun because they cannot help it. 

In general, As You Like It is a pictuie of an ideal life, full of soft and 
delicate imagination. Caprice and fancy peep out at every step, and we 
smile or laugh softly. Twelfth Night is a true comedy, with a certain 


sweetness and pleasantry, but here we burst into a roar of laughter. It is 
full of a genial, free and easy spirit, rising to the perfection of comic effect- 
in the wild and boisterous frolics. In both we find improbability of inci 
dent, but in As You Like It, it is an idealized improbability, often playful, 
at times serious, but always pervaded with a spirit of exquisite poetry. 

Each play has its shadows, which gently fall across the brighter spots, and 
each in its different way teaches the same lesson. The Duke fitly phrased 
it when he said : — 

" Sweet are the uses of adversity." 

But let us not close with a sombre thought ; rather let us think of As You 
Like It as pervaded with sunshine and flowers, let the blithe song of Amicus 
ring in our ears : — 

" Under the greenwood tree, 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And turn his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat? 
Come hither, come hither, come hither; 
Here shall he see 
No enemy, 
But winter and rough weather." 

Mary C. Adams, '95. 

Sweetest warbler of the springtime, 

Rich thy liquid note, and rare ! 
Thou'rt a lover, I can see it 

By thy bold and saucy air. 

'Tis thy loved one thou art calling 

To thy airy dell aloft! 
'Mid the blossoms May time opens, 

'Mid a fragrance pure and soft. 

Blossom bower ! May-time fragrance ! 

Subtle charm of lover's song! 
Who'll resist you, who but loves you, 

Loves you fond and loves you long? 

A. E. B., '91. 



THE bright spring days that seem so full of promise have this year 
brought to the class of '87 a crushing sorrow. On the morning of 
March thirty-first, Laura Lyon Williams, our beloved president, passed 
quietly from earth to her heavenly home. 

Our hearts are too heavy with grief to think beyond the sad present, but 
there is left to us the comfort of tender memory and the assurance that the 
influence of her noble life will always be with us, an inspiration towards the 
highest and the best. 

In the loss of our president, '87 mourns one bound to us in deepest love, 
and one in whom was rare strength of character and purity of life. 

Whereas, We, the members of the class of '87 of Welleslay College, have 
lost by death our beloved friend and president, Laura Lyon Williams, 

Resolved, That, in our irreparable loss, we seek comfort for our sorrow in 
expressing our deep love for her who has gone, and our affectionate appreci- 
ation of her unselfish service to us. 

Resolved, That we extend our heartfelt sympathy to her bereaved family 
and friends, who in her death have sustained the deepest affliction. 

Resolved, That these resolutions be entered in the minutes of the class 
organization, and that copies be sent to the family and to the Wellesley 


Edith A. True, ) 

Sarah Jane Storms, > Class Committee. 

Mabel Nevins Mather, ) 

" Short Day and Long Remembrance." 

Our Wellesley knew thee but a few swift years, 
A maiden spirit, fresh as morning skies, 
Pale beauty of the face and frank young eyes 

With privacies of tenderness and tears. 

Half shy, half proud amid thy clustering peers 
Thou borest thee in queenly lily wise, 
Yet swaying toward them in a sweet surprise 

Of love and faith — prophetic atmospheres. 


For summer shone, and goldenly thine heart • 

Bloomed into bliss, hut now — oh, strange, new ache 

That makes itself familiar — now thou art 

A broken lily, all untimely dimmed, 
A broken lily, for whose vanished sake 

Our speech is faint, our eyes are overbrimmed. 

There is a life outwearing even grief, 

Our shining lily, of the sunbeams fain, 

Smit by a sudden vehemence of rain 
Is clashed to earth with ruined cup and leaf. 
But Death, her troubler, holds his mortal fief 

Of Love the overlord, whose meads retain 

A perfume sweeter for the bruise and stain, 
Abiding fragrance of a blossom brief. 

Transplanted, be it so, to gardens bright, 

Where drooping lilies, sprent with honey-dew, 

By angel touches wax more dazzling white 
Than eye conceives beneath this baffling blue, 

At least remains to us of shadowed sight 
Thy folding effluence of fair and true. 

God pity all whose hearts are anguish-torn 

For loss of her, but softest mercies flow 

On these, her little ones, who cannot know 
What cause their baby voices have to mourn. 
In vain their fitful cries pursue her borne 

From rooms beloved, yet content to go, 

Sealed in that ivory trance from joy and woe, 
Her bridal raiment now serenely worn. 

Too young for memory, too young to miss 

Her cherishments, and yet it may not be 
As they had never felt the mother-kiss, 
Nor reached their wandering hands to catch her smile. 
But, haply, dreamland keeps some charmed isle 

Where love shall brood them safe from storm and sea. 

Katharine Lee Bates. 





E are glad to be able to note this month that one of Wellesley's 
friends has shown her interest in the college in a very substantial 
way. The college has received a gift of ten thousand dollars to provide 
for one of the many needs. This money will be used to build a new cottage, 
which will be conducted on the same plan as the Eliot. We are glad that 
the money is to be used in this way. We need more cottages of this kind, 
for they make it possible for girls of moderate means to go through college. 
We all wish as many as possible to have the opportunities of higher educa- 
tion, and each new cottage of this sort would give these opportunities to 
thirty or forty girls, who would otherwise find it very difficult to gain a 
college education. 

This gift makes us hopeful that in the not far distant future our dreams 
of a new chapel, gymnasium and science building will be realized. Though 
we may not see these realizations ourselves, while we are students here, yet 
we hope that those in the younger classes may see, at least, the beginnings 
of these buildings we so much need. Certainly it cannot be long before 
some one will recognize our needs and provide for them. 


WHO can realize, as the sound of busy hammers and trowels reaches 
her ear, that the boat-house, that air-castle which for so many years 
has been floating ahead of us, ever eluding our grasp, has actually been 
caught at last and fastened to a firm foundation on the shores of Lake Waban ? 

Yet such is truly the case, and with joy we watch the rapid transforma- 
tion of the flimsy and perishable material of which air-castles are commonly 
built into more substantial brick and stone. 

Our surprise at seeing the boat-house fast becoming a realization will soon 
change to a feeling of wonder how we did without it. 

The " tubs," with their rough, painted sides and iron row-locks, were 
strong to resist hard usage and bad weather, but the new crew boats, with 
their glossy coats of varnish and nickel outriggers, must be carefully treated, 
and demand the protection which the boat-house will soon afford them. 


The boat-house will certainly fill a long-felt need, and as far as can be 
judged in its present state of incompleteness, will be an addition to our pic- 
turesque lake shore. 


NO one who has observed any member of the Legenda Board during the 
past week, will be surprised to hear that the '94 Legenda has gone to 
press. The editors no longer wear that agonized expression, peculiar to the 
man who must bring forth a new joke within the next twenty-four hours. 
They are sometimes even seen to smile in the corridors. 

Not only from the expression of the editors, but also from more accurate 
information, we are led to believe that this year's publication will be an 
extremely good one. Those who never saw Mr. Durant, and who can know 
but little of his personality, will be glad to learn that the Legenda will con- 
tain, besides the pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Durant and their son, in whose 
memory the college was founded, a sketch of the life of Mr. Durant by 
Professor Bates. A memorial which will more nearly touch us, who are the 
present members of the college, is that of Miss Shafer, which we shall all 
be glad to have in a permanent form. 

That part of the Legenda which contains the matter peculiarly character- 
istic of college annuals, is entirely different from the publications of the 
past two years, since it is again upon a humorous basis, and the choicest wit 
of '94, which we all know is exceptionally delicate and keen, has been 
expended upon the jokes and sketches. Besides the usual class lists and 
the accounts of other organizations, an especially attractive feature of the 
book will be the newest of the Glee Club songs. 

It is hoped that the college, which boasts but two publications, may show 
its loyal spirit by supporting this one. 


£0e §ree $ress. 

Advice by an Alumna. 

This is the time of year when many of the seniors are thinking anxiously about the 
future, and wondering what good or bad fortune the fates will award to them next 
year. I suppose the majority of them will enter upon a teacher's career, and I there- 
fore take this opportunity of offering a few suggestions to those students who intend 
to earn their daily bread by teaching. There are certain questions which nearly all 
college girls ask, and which oftentimes remain unanswered. It is for the pur- 
pose of answering a few of these questions, that I have written this short article. 

i. Do not be too conscientious. 

When you fill out your registration blank do not be too conscientious. Nearly 
all seniors hesitate about underlining studies not fresh in mind or never studied. 
My advice would be, underline everything, except music or a language. You 
will very probably be called upon to teach all branches unless you are so fortu- 
nate or unfortunate as to engage in deportment work. It is not so difficult to 
teach new studies as it may seem. I remember I was especially conscientious in 
regard to not underlining botany, book-keeping and astronomy, all of which 
studies I have taught, two ot them in my first year, with apparently good results. 

2. Do not specialize. 

This is advice which itis too late to follow, and, according to the belief of some, 
is unsound. My experience, and the experience of the majority of graduates will 
coincide with mine, I think, proves that the more general a college course is, the 
better equipped the teacher. One or two years, work in almost any branch will 
fit one to teach it acceptably in ordinary schools. When a teacher is obliged to 
teach from three to eight different subjects at one time, then a general knowledge 
is desirable. If one desires to specialize she may do it later. After teaching for 
several years, she can take advanced work in some American or foreign 

3. Do not aim too high. 

I believe with Emerson " hitch your wagon to a star," but, nevertheless, many 
young graduates hold too lofty aspirations and expectations and are disappointed 
in not realizing them. They will not teach certain distasteful studies, they will 
not teach for less than six or seven hundred dollars. Alas! in these days of 
sharp competition, an inexperienced teacher is fortunate to obtain any position, 
even if it only offers five hundred dollars. I should venture to state that the 


majority of the positions in the East do not offer over five or six hundred dollars. 
A salary of eight hundred dollars is rare, and a position which offers more than 
that to a woman is an exceptional one. It is discouraging, I admit, for a woman 
to take advanced work in a university and perhaps not obtain any larger salary 
than before, while a man's salary might be doubled, or at least largely increased. 

4. Do not forget the importance of discipline in a school-room. 

Perhaps the most difficult thing with which a teacher has to contend is disci- 
pline, and at the same time it is entirely unprepared for. I wish the various 
colleges fitted these students who intend to teach more fully for their duties and 
gave them an opportunity to test their powers of government. Very few college 
girls fail in teaching, but some do fail in discipline. The three things which 
have been most helpful to me in discipline, are to command respect, to be firm 
and to keep the students busy. 

I fear you may think this a discouraging article, but not so. It only presents 
the practical aspects of a teacher's life. The field is a wide one and a varied one. 
It is, withal, an enjoyable one. Only enter upon the work with wholehearted- 
ness and you will succeed. If not at first, then " try, try again." 

E. Hathaway, '90. 

Domestic i - ank is, perhaps, a painful necessity, and therefore it is useless to 
talk against the institution itself. But there is one thing about domestic work 
which is not a necessity at all and this is simply the unequal distribution of the 
work. Every one knows perfectly well how unequally the work is distributed 
among the students and the most unpleasant part falls principally upon the two 
lower classes. 

The department work is divided between those who have virtually nothing to 
do, and those who have from four to six periods a week. If one of these last 
named, ventures to complain, she is told that, " the honor of being a depart- 
ment girl compensates for the large amount of work." 

There is no justice in this equality and there is no reason for it. As the work 
is now divided, those girls who have the harder work, have the most of it. Take 
for example, the library and dining-room work. Should this be so? 

E. S., '96. 

During the spring term, there is much class business to be transacted, frequent 
meetings are necessary and the old question, " What shall we do about a quorum," 
clamors for an answer. I believe that in some way membership should be made 


voluntary; as it stands now, all who are fully qualified by their academic work 
are practically members of the organization. One girl who felt that she ought 
not to attend class-meetings, tried to withdraw, but was told that there was no 
way to manage it. She must still be counted in reckoning a quorum ; therefore 
she still goes to class meetings. Attempts have been made to impose a yearly fine 
of twenty-five cents as a condition of membership, but this was opposed and the 
tax is only "asked," which means that every one is dunned for that amount 
whether she really cares to belong to the class organization or not. If, however, 
this were the condition of membership, only those who care for their class 
" twenty-five cents' worth," would pay it and the rest would be free to go their 
several ways. In every class there is a certain number of girls who do not attend 
class meetings and take no part in the work of the class, but they count towards a 
quorum and waste the time of the girls who have to wait until the necessary num- 
ber can be found to do business and weary factotums must raid the library and 
drag out unwilling victims. S. E. W. B., '94. 


Not many weeks ago, I visited in a home where the daughter is preparing to 
enter Wellesley. It was easy to see that for some reason she was not enthusias- 
tic over going to college. As soon as we had a chance to talk alone, she began, 
eagerly : " Is is really true that the girls at Wellesley are just digs, and don't care 
a bit about being agreeable and nice and jolly?" When I asked what had given 
her such an idea, she told how some of her friends, also who are fitting for 
Wellesley, came one day to visit the college. On their return, this was their 
comment upon the girls whom they had seen: "They didn't look interesting or 
jolly or pretty at all. They just rushed" (Think of their using our word 
" rushed " !) " round the corridors, and looked as if they had to work awfully and 
didn't care about anything else." No wonder that the heart of my merry little 
friend sank at that ! Mine sank, too. 

Then I tried to tell her how it really is, — that the girls work hard, but that 
they do care about other things, do care to be " interesting and jolly and nice and 
pretty." She, however, could not understand why they did not show it when her 
friends were here ; and I wondered whether that day were exceptional. 

But is it not a shame to us, college students, that three young girls should have 
all their enthusiasm over college life here shattered, because we are not strong 
and courageous enough to roll the burden of our work off of our faces, and to go 
about our corridors in a happy, leisurely way, as if life were, after all, the glad 
thing that it really is for most of us. 


There is no difficulty, when we first return after vacation, in keeping our buoy- 
ant spirits. The test comes later, when work presses heavily and wejhave lost 
our early freshness and vigor. Then is the time to prove " the stuff we're made 
of." There has been an unusual amount of grumbling and complaining this year. 
True, many of us do work too hard, but our best way to lighten the load is by 
refusing to let it press heavily upon us, depressing our spirits. " It would make 
any one ill to be declaring constantly how overworked he was," a friend said to 
me, recently. 

Why not delude ourselves for the remainder of this year into thinking 
that we really can accomplish what we have to do, provided only that we take 
life quietly, say little about our " pressure of work," sleep enough every night, 
keep hopeful hearts and glad faces? 

Can the young woman whose buoyancy vanishes in the presence of hard work 
and weariness, whose long face and complaining voice, as she relates her woes, 
wear out the strength and patience of her friends, can she, I say, hope to meet 
the wear and weariness of life, and be a woman whose college course helped to 
give her the self-control and freshness of spirit necessary for happiness and success ? 

In these college days, not only are we fixing our attitude toward the work of 
life, but we are giving to our faces lasting expressions of cloudiness and worry, 
or of sunshine and serenity. C. S. H., '95. 


In a free press article in the April magazine, we are informed that to a first- 
year student living in the village, Wellesley seems peculiarly out of touch with 
the rest of the world. 

As this student'has seen fit to give us some of her experience and observation on 
the subject, it may not be out of place for another student, who has also had a 
year of village life, to give some of her own observations in reply. 

We can sympathize with the writer in her aspirations to broaden her intellec- 
tual horizon by close contact with Boston and Cambridge, but since we are left 
in ignorance of the character and extent of her expectations, we are not in a posi- 
tion to offer suggestions. It seems to us, however, the individual fault of the 
student, if, after a month or two, Boston degenerates to a " mere shopping place," 
Cambridge to a "contemporary myth," rather than a result for which the college 
is responsible. 

Again, the writer complains that she feels " so little stimulus to keep 
abreast of events," that the calm secludedness of Wellesley makes it difficult to 
care about reading the papers even if one has time. We have heard this com- 


plaint before, but may we ask from whom this stimulus should come ? Is our 
interest in outside events so slight, are our minds so feeble, that we must depend on 
some external stimulus, some pressure from without, to force us to keep in step with 
the world of to-day? Surely, it is from ourselves that this stimulus should come. 
We are unworthy this name of " college women," of which we are so proud, if 
our desire to keep abreast of events is not strong enough to overcome the slight 
difficulties in our way, which are, after all, mainly of our own making. 

Furthermore, the writer is " conscious of no vital connection between the 
Wellesley world and the larger world of progressive thought." We are obliged 
to confess that this feeling is shared to some extent by many, but we are equally 
sure that the remedy lies within our control. We have heard that a " Wellesley 
girl" is a synonym for a '' dig." We have realized, many of us, that there is 
something at fault, when we have waited long and weary hours, time and time 
again, for the number required for a quorum. And when the quorum has been 
secured, have we not realized that it is only the few who really have opinions and 
give voice to them! Ought this to be? Are we not too individual, too bent on 
following our own hobby, our own line of thought, to the exclusion of all other 
interests? And, moreover, do we come to college to bury ourselves in our 
books, to develop ourselves along one line, or are we moved by the desire to 
broaden our horizon, intellectual and otherwise, in every possible direction, 
seeking to know as much of the life and problems of the present day, as we do 
of the customs of the ancients? To come back to the point in question, if this 
latter supposition is true, are we likely to be content that there should be no vital 
connection between us and the outside world? 

If we admit, as the writer of the previous article does admit, that a larger 
mental food lies really within our reach, it is certainly a source of shame to us, if 
we must wait for a " something in the air" to whet our appetite for this food. 

We do not, we cannot, believe that this is true of all of Wellesley's students. 
Shall we not make it impossible that it can be said of one, that, by returning to 
Wellesley, " she lets go the hand of the world's activity." 

M. C. D., '94. 


There has been a growing realization of late that something unhealthy in the 
atmosphere of work is abroad at Wellesley. The impulse is to worry over one's 
work, and to let the mind dwell on all that is before it in the term, until the 
thought becomes a constant burden, not thrown off even in recreation. Now,, 
why should this be so? Every one knows that work is better done when done- 


quietly. The attitude toward study should be more scholarly, more worthy of the 
true college student. The work is not too difficult for the average student, and 
any one, on reflection, would be ashamed to admit such a statement. Why, then, 
this constant worrying, fussing, fuming, that increases the difficulty tenfold? 

And it is not only that the worry hurts the one who thus indulges, but all her 
friends and neighbors suffer with her woes as well as with their own. Thought- 
lessness is surely the cause of this selfishness. It does not relieve the burden to 
talk constantly of it, neither is it a help to a friend. It may be a girl's natural 
impulse to confide all her troubles to another, but let her act the part of a true 
friend and bear her own burdens uncomplainingly. For the sake of the peace of 
mind, even of the health, of those who live with us in the same community, let 
us then be braver about our work, a little more confident of our own powers, and 
we shall find our tasks better done and our health less affected by the end of the 
year. D., '95. 


An article which appeared last month, advocating an open library on the Sab- 
bath, suggests another aspect of the library question. The library, which is such 
a source of pleasure and profit to each one of us, is entrusted to the free use and 
enjoyment of the student every week-day. Before we can justly ask for an 
enlargement of our privilege in this direction, it is for us to consider whether we 
deserve it. 

As matters stand now, the library is entirely at our disposal, and the freedom 
which the present system grants in the use of books is the greatest possible when 
the rights of each individual are considered. The one thing requisite to make 
the present system successful is that each one should feel an individual responsi- 
bility in the careful use of books, and a due regard for the rights of others. When 
the librarians state that books necessary for reference disappear at the rate often 
volumes a night ; when serious annoyances are caused by the loss of books which 
are laid back in some secluded corner to await the convenience of some one indi- 
vidual, the abuse of privilege has become so great as to need a remedy. 

There are various plans which might be adopted to remedy this growing annoy- 
ance. The book-cases might be locked and books dealt out by request ; or a 
vigilant committee might be stationed at the library door to examine all persons 
passing out. By far the best way would be for each one of us to make this ques- 
tion a point of honor ; to realize that the removal of books is not an individual 
matter, but that it casts a reflection on the whole student body. This thoughtless- 
ness in the use of library books calls for an immediate remedy. Shall we not 
make this a matter of individual and college honor, and thus apply the remedy 
that lies within our power? N., '95. 



This past month our Exchanges have seemed fairly redolent of spring. The 
short story has a noticeable setting of glowing maple buds and trees new-leaved, 
while arbutus and April violets are largely apostrophized. We are gl-id that tra- 
dition has been set aside, and several dainty spring poems have escaped the 
omnivorous scrap-basket to grace the pages of a magazine. But with this season 
come practical considerations as well. Incoming editorial boards have devoted 
whole pages to stern resolutions, and pathetic appeals for the co-operation of 
students. These appeals are often upheld by ingenious arguments. We quote 
from the "Yale Literary Magazine": 

" If, as it is said, mature men forget that they once were young, there is work 
for the young man to do in making permanent record of his youthful experience, 
of the way in which his youthful eye beholds the world, its people and their 
works. Such records well written have an individual value of their own, which 
is to be compared to a foreigner's view of the land in which he visits. Ignorance 
is not always a bar to interest." 

This magazine contains several short but interesting essays. "The College 
Days of a Yale Poet " gives an account of that institution in its state of pristine 
simplicity. Despite the fact that " men attended chapel before sunrise, held 
their first recitations by candle light and studied without translations," Nathaniel 
Parker Willis managed to pass a gay four years at his Alma Mater. "A New 
Idea," by Emerson Gifford Taylor, is a clever sketch of a club-house philosopher. 
We clip the following from the verse : — 

Fallen Stars. 

I saw one night a star slip down to earth 

From out the vault of Heaven's depths of blue, 

And grieved; till, at the morning's happy birth, 
Its ghost laughed at me from a drop of dew. 

Warwick James Price. 

In the " Harvard Monthly," as usual, we find a supply of all good things. 
The stories are especially well written. " The Reformation of Johnson," by 
L. W. Hopkinson, is commendable for its del-'neation of character; "A Stroll 
with the Marquis," by Jared Waterman, for its vivid description ; and " The 
Perjured Lovers," by Julien P. Welsh, for the quaint humor which colors it. Of 
the poems we most enjoy " Now with Return of Spring," by Joseph T. Stickney, 
but it is too long to quote. Instead we clip : — 



Tlio' inland far, prisoned with mountains round, 

Oppressed beneath a space of heavy skies, 

Yet hear I oft the tar-off water-cries 
And vague vast voices with the winds confound. 
While as a harp I sing, touched with the sound 

Most secret to its soul, the visions rise 

In stately dream, and lifting up mine eyes 
I see the naked mountains fire-crowned. 
Far in the heaven the golden moon illumes, 

The crowded stars toil in the webs of night 
And the sharp meteors seam the higher glooms. 
Then shifts my dream: the mellow evening falls; 

Upon the shore, alone, in the wet light 
I stand and hear the infinite sea that calls. 

Joseph Trumbull Stickney. 

The " Harvard Advocate" still comes on the crusade against illegibility. We 
refer all students of junior rhetoric to the first April number of this magazine. 
They will there gain useful hints on the matter of translation. 

With the exception of those in the " Harvard Monthly," the best short stories in 
any April magazine are found in the Nassau Lit." The sketches written in a 
lighter vein, especially "The Subsequent History of Miss Muffet," and the 
ghostly tale in which the spirit figures in modern dress, are excellent. The story 
entitled " So Runs the World Away " is hardly as well written as the former 
productions of its author. But it is of such an unusual character that we take 
advantage of the permission given by the il Lit." to make a few quotations. 

The sentiments of the hero, the heroine and the author seem to be surprisingly 
at one in their estimation of women. The ambition of Fletcher Barnes is to 
" shake mankind" with " thoughts," and to be " a leader of men." " The truth 
came gradually borne in upon him" . . . " that along those steep and rugged 
paths which he must climb women cannot go." 

" Ay ! " exclaims the author, " woman is the lesser man, and man is sufficient 
unto man." 

After a parting of seven years, Fletcher meets the heroine under a flaming 
sunset. They shake hands and sit down. He proposes to her and she rejects 
him in a speech of two pages. 

" You know," she says, " that we have riot the strength to follow you, nor the 
depth of being to equal yours, and that woman is the lesser man. Yes, Fletcher, 
woman is the lesser man, but alas for the man that finds it out." 


On finishing this speech, the heroine departs, and Fletcher resumes his steep 
and rugged path. " Time " did " his work." " Fletcher Barnes, leader of men, 
stood by a window watching the moon riding high in a fleecy sky. . . . He was 
thinking how a man with work to do in the world, and a mission to perform 
must leave women behind him ; . . . for woman is the lesser man, and her 
nature is cast in a lighter mould." 

If it is true, as certain wise people say, that our firmest beliefs are but the 
result of constant reiteration, a single reading of this article should conform our 
sentiments to those of its author. But we would refer, those who may be a 
trifle skeptical on this point, to a recent article by Mr. Andrew Lang, in which 
he comes to the conclusion, that the world cannot well get along without both 
man and woman. 

"An Opinion," by Juliet Hammond, and "An Interpretation of Hegel," by 
Teresina Peck, are two thoughtful, scholarly articles in the "Smith College 
Monthly." The three short stories of this magazine, though artistic, are rather 
depressing in their portrayal of the dreariest New England life. 

Of the many good prose articles in the " Wesleyan Literary Monthly," we like 
best " Is George Meredith ^orth Reading? " by Cornelius R. Berrien. It shows 
a keen insight both into the merits and faults of this novelist, who is undoubtedly, 
"caviare to the million." The " Bric-a-Brac " contains well-drawn sketches 
and sprightly verse. We take the following from the magazine : — 

" Aw — please wepeat — if you will be so kind, 
I weally — aw — was wandewing in my mind." 
" Was wandering in your mind? But then, you know, 
You'd such a very little ways to go." 

F. L. K. 

The contents of 'the " Dartmouth Literary Monthly " furnish the most pleasing 
mixture of literary papers, stories and verse. We would especially praise Mr. 
Kent Knowlton's discussion on " The Place of Jane Austen as a Literary Model." 

Indeed, we think the disguised " heavy" article has attained the greatest suc- 
cess during the past month. The subjects chosen may often have been of undue 
weight, but they have been treated originally and with care. The interest of the 
short story seems to lie in its startling denouement, rather than in its artistic treat- 
ment; as for the verse, it has suffered a slight reaction from the excellence of 
the previous month. 


We quote the following from the " Columbia Literary Monthly" : — 

A Song of Innocence. 


Unready for life with its bustle and jar, 

Having breathed the Dream-World air, 
In a World of Dreams I've lived so far, 

And the World of Dreams is fair. 
But I am a part of the infinite sum 

That is called Humanity, 
And the call to enter life will come — 

The life of Reality. 

The time is approaching. I'm losing the hold 

On imaginings, fancies and dreams 
That composed the life that I knew of old; 

But the Real — so strange it seems, 
That I cry: Leave me some of my childish hopes, 

A few of the child's beliefs; 
Perhaps they may prove the saving ropes 
When I'm wrecked upon Real Life's reefs. 

A. S. 
And this from the " Inlander" : — 

A Prelude. 
It was evening, and dead low ebb of the tide, 
The color of all the world 
Was like the inside of a shell 
That is purple and gray, 

With a fading yellow band on the western rim 
Between the sky and the sea. 
But the still mist drifted in 
On the breast of the sleeping tide 
And mingled the sea with the sky, 
Till the breakers out on the bar 

Burst their vaporous vanishing white from the midst of the clouds. 
Then from under the silent mist, 
Out over the the swells of the dim indefinite dune», 
Came a sigh and a breathing stir, 
Somehow a ripple broke, — and the tide turned in. 

Maude Elaine Caldwell. 


(jSooft (gefc>teio0. 

Marcella, by Mrs. Humphrey Ward. 2 vols. Cloth, $2.00. Macmillan & Co. 

Mrs. Humphrey Ward's new book, which has long been promised by certain 
newspaper sages, is now eagerly hailed by the many admirers of "Robert Els- 
mere" and "David Grieve." 

In "Marcella," even more than in these two novels, Mrs. Ward shows her 
ability to portray the development and final crystallization of character. The aim 
of the book is to clearly set forth the varied phases of socialism. We view the 
problem mainly through the eyes of the imaginative, impulsive Marcella. And 
unconsciously our interest centres in this wayward, impulsive girl. The misery 
of the poor takes on a tragic intensity as Marcella moves among them. The sta- 
tistics and dry facts heralded in the " Labor Clarion " scintillate with meaning 
under the scorn of her flashing eyes. We watch her as she advances from the 
egoistic extravagance of one and twenty to the calmer, clearer thought of after 
years. But in all her struggles with the apathy of the poor, with the easeful 
indifference of the rich, or with the hypocrisy of self-seeking reformers, we find 
the same hatred of oppression, the same " large and passionate humanity" which 
"plays about her." 

It is not alone from Marcella's standpoint that the question is viewed. Each 
incident, each character, serves to present a new aspect of the troublous problem. 
The brilliant but unscrupulous Wharton, in his feverish quest for sensation, has 
thrown himself into "the great tragic-comedy of the workingman's movement, 
for the sake of the amusement it will bring him. And through him we feel its 
excitement and dramatic force. Mrs. Boyce, on the other hand, is one whom 
"the sentiments of life avoided. She wished to see things in a dry light, and 
enjoyed " playing with the ironies of the situation." In London we meet the 
more violent socialists, from the lean and hungry type, raging with jealousy and 
despair, to the sturdy and determined leaders of Parliament. On the Mellor 
estate, conservatives are found of every grade, from the primitive little Miss 
Raeburn to her decided but broad-minded nephew. In the sardonic chat of Mrs. 
Jellison, the ancient wit of the village, is revealed the hopeless cynicism of the 
oppressed ; in the dogged action of the deformed poacher, their feeble revolt 
from tyranny. In fact, Mrs. Ward has been wonderfully successful in her 
attempt to present a system of thought as it is held by the various social classes 
in the England of to-day. 


The evident endeavor to plead for a special view of the subject might classify 
her method with that of Charles Kingsley. It cannot be denied that " Marcella," 
with the proneness of an English novel to sin against artistic form, suffers from 
its diffuseness, its free use of conventional lines and somewhat melodramatic inci- 
dents. Nevertheless, Mrs. Ward, with her firm intellectual grasp of the subject 
and clever depiction of character, stands supreme in the school of novelists to 
which she belongs. 


" The Evolution of Woman," by Eliza Burt Gamble. (New York : G. P. 
Putnam's Sons. ) 

"The Flower of Forgiveness," by Flora Anna Steel. (New York: Mac- 
millan & Co.) 

JJoctefg (Uofes. 

The regular monthly meeting of the Shakespeare Society was held in Shake- 
speare Hall, on Saturday evening, April 28. Fannie Bradley Greene, '94, was 
formally received into the membership of the society. The following was the 
programme of the evening: — 


Shakespeare News ..... Ada Marshall Belfield 

The Fouith Period of Shakespeare's Plays . . Millicent L. Peirce 

Cymbeline — A Plot's Study .... Levenia Dugan Smith 

Dramatic Representation. Cymbeline, Act I., Scenes 2 and 3. 
Imogen — A Character Study .... Emma Christy Brooks 
Shakespeare's Use of the Disguise . . . Sara Katharine Conner 

Dramatic Representation. Cymbeline, Act I., Scene II. 
Miss Cornelia Green, '92, was present at the meeting. 

A regular programme meeting of the Alpha Chapter of the Phi Sigma Frater- 
nity was held on Saturday, April 7. The subject of the meeting was Dumas. 
The following programme was given : — 
Dumas' Relation to the French Theatre . . . Alice H. Schouler 

Dumas as a Realist .... 

Music ...... 

Dumas as a Moralist .... 

The Dramatic Power of Dumas 

Miss Caroline E. Dresser, '90, and Miss Mabel Curtis 

the meeting. 

Mary H. Holmes 

Roberta Z. Allen 

Anna C. Witherlee 

Roberta Z. Allen 

'90, were present at 



The regular meeting of the Society Zeta Alpha was held Friday evening, April 
13, in Society Hall. The subject of the meeting was Florence in the Time of 
Lorenzo de Medici. The following was the programme : — 
Picturesque Florence ..... Agnes L. Caldwell 

Lorenzo the Magnificent . 

The Immortality of Florence 


The Fall of the Medici 


Adah M. Hasbrooke 

M. Denison Wilt 

Florence Forbes 

Cornelia Huntington 
Pearl Underwood 

The Society of T. Z. E. held its regular meeting April 28, the programme of 
which was as follows : — 
I. Works of Meissonier and Duvan . . . Helen JVIacMillan 

II. Millet ...... Alberta Welch 

III. Academic Sculpture — Chapa, DuBois, Saint Mar- 

ceaux, Mercie ..... May Kellog 

IV. French Historians — Augustin Thiery, Guizot, Michelet, Maude Keller 
At the regular meeting of the T. Z. E. Society, April 14, the following pro- 
gramme was presented : — 

I. Works of Rousseau, Diaz and Dupre . . Fanny Austin 

II. Troyon ...... Charlotte Goodrich 

III. French Novelists — Alexander Dumas, Balzac, George Sand, Alice Wood 

IV. French Grand Opera. Spontinic and his followers, Edith Sawyer 
A regular meeting of the Agora was help April 7. 

Impromptu Speeches. 
Questions of Reform. 
The Referendum ...... Louise Richardson 

Proportional Representation .... Susie Hawley 

Should senators be elected by direct vote of the people ? 

Affirmative, Edith Rhodes 

Negative, Bolinda Bogardus 

The regular meeting of the Classical Society was held Saturday evening, April 

14. The programme of the evening was an interesting talk by Professor Chapin 

on the "American Classical School in Athens." Miss Nellie Stimson, '95, and 

Miss Grace Tovvnsend, '97, have recently been received into the society. 


Coffege Qtofes. 

The June number of the Magazine will be a Tree Day and Commencement 
number. Necessarily it will be delayed until after Commencement, and must 
therefore be sent to the home address of all subscribers. Notice must be sent 
before June 9, if extra copies are desired, or if the address in the Ninety-four 
Legenda is not the one to which the Magazine is to be sent. 

A few copies of the Ninety-three Legenda may still be obtained by application 
to Miss Florence Tobey. 

On Saturday, April 7, Kate Douglas Wiggin was expected to read in the chapel, 
but the engagement was postponed because of Mrs. Wiggin's illness. 

Miss Hodgkins addressed the missionary meeting Sunday, April 8. 

The first concert of the term was given on April 9, by Professor Carl of New 
York. It was an organ recital, and though the pleasure of both artist and audi- 
ence was somewhat marred by the rattling of the pedals, it was an exceptionally 
good one. The selections were from Bach, Guilmant and other noted composers. 

For the past few weeks, Professor Hill has been giving a series of lectures on 
the history of the pianoforte. This course, though especially intended for the 
students of the School of Music, could not fail to be of great interest and value to 
the college at large. 

On the evening of April 14, Miss Hart invited the members of her classes in 
English I. to meet Col. Thomas Wentworth Higginson in the Faculty Parlor. 
Colonel Higginson gave an informal talk on "Some People Whom I Have Met." 
Among the number of his distinguished acquaintances were Tennyson, Darwin, 
Carlyle, Lowell, Hawthorne and others. Miss Stratton, Miss Hart and Miss 
Sweeny received. 

Mrs. Morton has been taken to a hospital in Boston. It is hoped that she may 
be able to return in about three weeks. 

On Monday afternoon, April 16, the Tau Zeta Epsilon Society gave a very 
pretty reception in their new hall. 

The engagement of Miss Maud Keller, '92, to Dr. Arthur Evans of Chicago, 
is announced. 

The Glee Club concert given in chapel on Monday evening, April 16, was, as 
usual, a marked success. A number of beautiful pink and white azaleas, with 
which the platform was decorated, added to the festive appearance and made an 
appropriate setting for the dainty gowns of the girls. The Glee Club was in 



exceptionally good voice but both clubs showed the results of careful training 
and it was generally admitted that the Banjo Club has never done better work. 
The following programme was given : — 

Part I. 
Massachusetts Bicycle March 

Banjo Club. 

Arr. by Lansing 

College Beautiful 
George Washington 
Image of the Rose 

Merry Maidens' Galop 

Lady Bird 
Mens Sana 
Queen of the Sea 

Lullaby . 
Skylark . 
Jack and Mary 

Solo by Miss Hoyt. 
Banjo Club. 

Wellesley Songs 

Arr. by Junius W. Hill 

G. Reichardt 


| Words by Katherine L. Bates 
( Music by Junius W. Hill 

Banjo Club. 
Part II. 

Arr. from Yale songs by Junius W. Hill 
Solo by Miss Wood. 

On the Bank of the Hudson 

My College Girl 


The Wellesley Charioteer 

Flash Galop 

The Wellesley Medley . 


Banjo Club. 

Banjo Club. 

. | Words by Alice W. Kellog 
( Music by Junius W. Hill 
G. P. Ritter 
j Words by Maria Russel Russell 
{ Music by Edith Sawyer 


Arr. by Mary Alice Knox 

Solos by Miss Yates. 

On Tuesday afternoon, April 17, Professor William R. Thayer of Harvard 
lectured in the chapel on " Modern Italy." 

Miss Crafts, of the freshman class, has left college on account of ill-health. 

On Wednesday evening, April 18, the junior class gave a party to the sopho- 
mores. A clever little farce called "A Lion Among Ladies" was given, after 
which the girls danced and refreshments were served. 


The long wished for and much needed boat-house is at last fairly under way. 
It has sprung up as if by magic and will probably be completed in time for Float. 
The number of private boats upon the lake is larger this spring than ever before, 
probably because this certain means of shelter is being provided. 

On the evening of Patriots' Day, Dr. Edward T. Porter of Lexington, Mass., 
spoke in the chapel on " Some Memories Awakened by the Day." The Beethoven 
Society sang several patriotic songs and the audience joined with a good deal 
of enthusiasm in the refrain. 

Miss Caroline Williamson, of the class of '90, returned to college the 
first of May, to complete her work for the second degree. 

On Saturday evening, April 21, Miss Bates invited the members of the Phi 
Sigma Society and of Literature VII. to meet Miss Robertson of the Boston 
Browning Society in the Faculty Parlor. Miss Robertson's reading of a number 
of selections from Mr. Browning's work was wonderfully appreciative and all her 
listeners were charmed. 

Miss Margaret Oats, of the class ot '97, did not return to college after vacation 
because of ill-health. 

The chief social event of the past two weeks was a Fairy Cotillion given in the 
gymnasium on the afternoon of April 23, by the Misses Chace, Roberts, Conner, 
Miller, Jones and Crumb. The artistic decorations and the dainty costumes of 
the girls made the gymnasium especially attractive. 

Mr. Hamilton Mabie spoke in the chapel Monday evening, April 23, on 
" Culture as the End of Education." Mr. Mabie showed that true culture 
requires a sincere sympathy with our fellow-men and a thorough knowledge of 
life, as well as mere book learning. 

On the afternoon of April 28, President Walker, of the Boston Institute of 
Technology, lectured in the chapel on " Metallism." 

On Saturday evening, April 28, the department of elocution gave a representa- 
tion of the " Princess" in the gymnasium. An especially charming feature was 
the Delsarte drill. This representation was intended especially for the freshmen, 
but the entertainment was repeated on the following afternoon for the seniors. 

Miss Emma Hough and Miss Estelle Andrews, of the Wellesley School of 
Music, gave a recital in the chapel, April 30. 

A change has been made in Rhetoric III. for the year '94-'95. Two courses will 
be offered ; one, the regular forensic course without the debates ; the other, a major 
course, to consist entirely of debating work. 


On Saturday afternoon, May 5, Dr. Josiah Royce of Harvard College lectured 
in the chapel on " The Natural History of Conscience." A reception for Dr. and 
Mrs. Royce was given by the philosophy department in the Faculty Parlors, in 
the evening. 

The class of '95 has chosen its Legenda board. The names of the editors are 
as follows: Sarah E. Capps, editor-in-chief; Florence Forbes, associate editor ; 
Ada Hasbrooke, Helen Wilder, Mabel Wellman, May Merrill and Martha 
Waterman, literary editors ; Mary Louise Roberts, Gertrude Jones and Arline 
Smith, art editors ; Elizabeth Peale and Isa Skelton, business managers 

A reception was given to the Harvard Glee Club, at Freeman, Saturday, 
May 5. 

Miss Gregg of New York addressed the missionary meeting, Sunday, May 6. 

Miss Bigelow, '93 ; Miss Conant, '90; Miss Cornelia Green, '92 ; Miss Hazard, 
'93; Miss Curtis, '90; Miss Dresser, '90; Miss Hill, '93; Miss Page, '95; Miss 
Freeman, '96; Miss Hamlin, '91; Miss Peasley, '95; Miss Keith, '93; Miss 
Hardon, '92, have been among the former students who have lately visited the 

It is requested that all subscriptions for the boat-house be paid to Miss Canfield, 
'94, as soon as possible. 

For those who desire a brief trip abroad, the party which Mrs. Denis is to con- 
duct to Europe this summer offers many attractions. The party will sail from 
New York, June 16, on the S.S. " Fulda," of the North German Lloyd Company. 
The following are the places of interest to be visited : Genoa, Pisa, Florence, 
Bologna, Venice, Padua, Verona, Milan. A halt for the Sabbath will be made 
at the Italian Lakes, and then the journey will be continued over the Simplon to 
Visp, and thence by way of Martigny and Chamounix to Geneva. From here the 
party will continue to Frieburg, Baden-Baden, Heidelburg, Worms and Mayence, 
going by way of the Rhine to Cologne, and then to Rheims. A halt of ten days 
will be made at Paris, where excursions will be made to various places. On leav- 
ing Paris, Amiens will be visited on the way to England. The party will sail for 
home on September 12, from Southampton. 


$fumnae (ttofes. 

The March meeting of the Chicago Wellesley Club was held Saturday, March 
17, at 2.30 o'clock, at the home of the vice-president, Lillian V. Pike, 3908 
Ellis avenue. The meeting was unusually small, many of the members being 
obliged to send regrets. The president, Miss Wren, was unable to be present, 
being absent from the city. Those present had the pleasure of listening to two 
violin solos by Miss Florence Wing, '92, accompanied by Miss Agnes S. Cook, 
who also played a piano solo. A letter concerning the needs of the Wellesley 
Record Association was read to interest the club in the liquidation of the debt of 
that association, and a beginning was made toward collecting money on behalf of 
the Record by asking the members of the club present to contribute what they 
could then, and arrangements were made for notifying the other members not 
present. Some further business of a local nature being transacted, light refresh- 
ments were served, after which the meeting adjourned. 

Miss Estelle M. Hurll, '80, formerly instructor in ethics at Wellesley, has 
interesting art papers in the January number of the "Art Interchange," and in 
the Easter number of the " Congregationalism" 

Miss Helen J. Sanborn, '84, of Somerville, author of "A Winter in Central 
America," which is an account of a trip made by her across Central America a 
few years ago, has left with her father, Mr. James S. Sanborn, for Europe and 
the Holy Land, for a winter's tour. Miss Sanborn possesses a rare gift of descrip- 
tion and of relating scenes and incidents exactly as she sees and experiences them. 
Her friends will look forward for another book on her return, — this time a nar- 
rative of her wanderings through Palestine. (Boston Traveller, Feb. 11, 1894.) 

Miss Elizabeth Wallace, '86, is in charge of Beecher Hall, Chicago University. 

The friends of the late Laura Lyon Williams, '87, will be glad to learn that 
her four little daughters, who have been ill with scarlet fever since their mother's 
death, are on the road to recovery. 

Miss Mary E. Stinson, '89, has recently been visiting her classmate, Mrs. Mary 
Edwards Twitchell, in her home in Brooklyn. 

Miss Alice Brewster, '89, spent part of her spring vacation with Mrs. Mary 
Bean Jones, '89. 

Miss Cooley, of the botanical department, is spending the year at the Univer- 
sity of Zurich, working in the laboratory of Professor Dodel, on problems con- 
nected with the embryo plant. 


Miss Evangeline Hathaway, '90, is planning to study at Oxford, England, 
next year. 

Miss Anna B. Jenks, of the class of '90, is a student at the Zurich University, 
devoting her time to the study of German and Latin. 

Miss Annie Louise Lord, '90, is teaching modern languages in the University 
of Denver. 

Miss Mary B. Peterson, '9o'9i, is teaching mathematics in the South Side 
High School of Milwaukee, Wis. 

Miss Delight Sweetser, student at Wellesley, '9<>'9i, sailed April 18, on the 
Friesland, for Geneva, where she will spend a year studying French. The sum- 
mer will be spent in travel. For the next few months, and again until late in the 
fall, her address will be 1 1 Rue L6vrier, Geneva. 

The address of Maria Baldwin, '91, is 509 3d street, N. W. Washington, D.C., 
the parsonage of Wesley Methodist Episcopal Church, of which her father was 
appointed pastor in March. 

The engagement of Miss Margaret Wrenn, '91, to Mr. Barnes is announced. 

Miss Grace Underwood, Miss Louise Brown and Miss Candace Stimson, all of 
'92, have started for Japan with Dr. Stimson. 

Miss Cora Perrine, '91, who is assistant in Chicago University library, is at 
home for a month's vacation. 

Miss Hattie Jones, '91, is in Florida tutoring two boys. 

Miss Madeline Freeman, '93, has accepted a position to teach mathematics and 
the sciences in the high school at Thompsonville, Conn. 

Miss Clara Helmer, '93, has been South with her parents and is visiting college 
on her return northward. 

Miss Alice Mae Reed, '93, was present at the Junior Promenade of Harcourt 

Miss Mary McPherson, '93, sailed for Europe, April 4, and will locate at 
Zurich, Switzerland. 

Miss Grace Freeman and Miss Annette Sherwin, former members of '94, are 
studying at Chicago University. 

Miss Alice Downing, '96, who has been studying at Chicago University, is now 
at her home, Aurora, 111. 

The class letter of '91 is soon to be ready. 


The Magazine would call the attention of the alumnae to the '94 Legenda, 
which promises to be good. 

The section for child study met on Saturday, April 7, 2.30 p. m., 12 Somerset 
street. Subject, " The Emotions of the Child." 

Since Christmas there has been a University Settlement in Chicago. It is 
situated in the Stock Yard district, on Gross avenue, near 47th street. There is 
a Day Nursery at the Settlement. Two university men are residents. 

Miss Mary Marot, Sp. 'Scj-'ox), has a drawing class. Miss Marot is chairman 
of the working committee of the Philanthropic Society of Chicago University. 

Miss Agnes Cook, formerly of '96, with some assistance, recently gave a 
musical at the Settlement. 

Miss Grace Jackson and Miss Jane Wetherlow, both of '91, frequently assist 
in work at the Settlement. 

Miss Hoyt, '89, graduated from Hahnemann Medical College and Hospital of 
Chicago, April 3, 1894. 

A meeting of the Wellesley College Alumna? Chapter of the College Settlement 
Association will be held on Commencement morning, June 19, at 10.30 in Room 
D. All alumnae are cordially invited to be present, whether members of the 
association or not. 

Coffege QSuffefm. 

May 13. Dr. J. W. Cooper preaches in the chapel. 

May 21. Concert. 

May 27. Rev. E. H. Hughes preaches. 

May 28. Temperance debate. 

June 1. Tree-day. 

June 2. Mrs. Wiggin reads in the chapel. 

June 3. Dr. A. McKenzie preaches. 

June 4. Concert. 


Bukton — Scandlin. Miss Mabel Elliot Scandlin,'93, to Mr. Chester O. Burton of New 
York, at Mount Hope.Wednesday, April 11. At home after May 1, at 216 West 22d street, 
New York. 

Hodgson — Allen. Miss Mamie Allen, formerly of '96, to Mr. Francis Mariou 


Born, March 2, a fourth daughter to Mrs. Laura Lyon Williams, '87. 


Entered into rest on March 31, 1894, Laura Lyon Williams, president of the class of 
'87. Services on April 3, from her late home in New Brighton, Staten Island. 

Died at her home in Lexington, Ky., pp May 3, 1894, Drysilla Rutherford Douglas, 
formerly of the class of '93. 

Jameson fy -i\nowles Company, 

Importers and Retailers of 


15 Winter Street, 


Special attention given to young people's Fancy 
Dress Shoes. 

The only house that presents illustrated Cata- 
logue. Send for one. 

The Best College Discounts given. 

H. H. Carter & Co., 

Stationers and Engravers, 


20 per eetit. Discount 

on purchases made by 

Students from Wellesley College. 

3 Beacon Street, 

Your attention io called to our stock of 


Toilet and Desk Funishings in Sterling and Plated Silver. 


Marble and Iron Clocks, $6.00 to $20.00. 

Stock in all departments always complete. 

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Jewellers and Silversmiths. 


PROGRAMS and INVITATIONS, both printed and engraved. Class Day programs a specialty. 

CLASS PINS designed and manufactured to order. 

PARASOLS and UMBRELLAS made to order, re-covered and repaired. 

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Calls the attention of the Young Ladies' to her stock of Kid, Undressed Kid, and Dog Skin Gloves 

that are suitable for all occasions. Also her very becoming stock of Veilings, and solicits 

their patronage, and will give to any of the students 6 per cent, discount. 



17 Beacon St., Boston. 

This Hotel is centrally located near business 
part of the city and combines the conveniences of 
a first-class hotel with the comforts of home. 


Two hirst-class Cafes in Hotel. 



J. W. SMITH & CO., 


Wellesley Pharmacy, 

^5. U/. P£I^Y; proprietor. 


Physicians' Prescriptions a Specialty. 

in all Departments 
of Literature . 

can be found at our store. The largest 
assorlment in Boston of the popular and 
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De Wolfe, piske & Co., 

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For Fine Millinery 





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JT Finest Roadbed on the Continent. 


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To til© West. 

Through Trains Leave Boston as Follows : 

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10.30 a. m. (dally) Chicago Special. 

2.00 p. m. (daily) Chicago Limited. 

7.15 p. m. (daily) Pacific Express. 

Springfield Line 


Hartford, New Haven and New York. 



9.00 a. m. 

(ex. Sunday) 

3.30 p. m. 

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10.00 p. in. 

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For tickets, information, time-tables, etc., 
apply to nearest ticket agent. 
A. S. HANSON, Gen'l Passenger Agent. 

Fine Carpets. 

The finest line of specialties In 

Axminsters, Wiltons and 
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ever offered by us. 
These are all our patterns, with a full line of the 



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163 to 169 WASHINGTON ST., 





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Thorough preparation for Wellesley and other colleges 
for women. 

References :— Pres. Shafer, Wellesley College, 
the Misses Eastman, Dana Hall, and others. 

Circulars on application. 

Miss Charlotte H. Conant, B.A., ) Pr - n .- n „i, 
Miss Florence Bigelow, M.A., } nnci P ais - 


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t ©estgner <\nb Qttafter * 

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you want anything in above line, will 
esteem it a favor to submit special designs, 
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We send design plates FREE upon request. 

Wellesley Pins can be obtained from Miss Florence 
Tobey, Business Manager of Magazine. 


©ana §aCf £c$ooC, 

Wellesley, Mass. 

Pupils are prepared for regular or for special 
courses at Wellesley College. 

* + + + 

Price for Board and Tuition, $500 for the 
school year ; tuition for day pupils, $125. 

♦ + * • 

Forfinther information address the Principals: 

Julia A. Eastman 
Sarah P. Eastman 


Furniture Manufacturers 

and Upholsterers. 

Send for Book of 
rules, they are free. 
It contains hints, 
etc. , necessary for 


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After Washing. 

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It softens, feeds, beautifies the skin. 
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For sale by all druggists, 25 and 
50 cent bottles. Small size by mail • 
35 cents. 


C. H, & J. Price, Salem, Mass. 

Lillies of the Valley. 

Washington and Elm Streets, 



Opposite Railroad Station, Wellesley. 

Ordered Work a Specialty. 

Cut Flowers and Plants of the Choicest Varieties on 
hand. Floral designs for all occasions arranged at 
shortest notice. Orders by mail or otherwise promptly 
attended to. Flowers carefully packed and forwarded to 

Factory at East Cambridge. a11 P artS o£ the United StateS and Canada ' 

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Young Ladies in want of Furs will find it to 
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Finest Quality. Exclusive Styles and Textures. 

$3 to $20. 

Rubber Boots and Shoes. 

Druggists' Sundries and Umbrellas. 

Rubber Goods of Every Description. 

College Discount lO per cent. 

Metropolitan Rubber Co. 

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49 Summer St. 

4 doors below C. F. Hovey & Co. 


Unconditional Guarantee accompanies each Rapid Writer Fountain Pen. 
Circulars free. FOUNTAIN PEN CO., Washington, D. C. 

Call on our representative for Wellesley College, Mary Ella Chapin. 

Only $3sNew York 

VIA FALL RIVER LINE for first-class limited 
tickets. Fares reduced for all points beyond New 
York. Steamers Puritan and Pilgrim in com- 
mission. Pullman Vestibuled Express Trains 
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The New England Bureau of Education. 

Reasons why thl3 Bureau has gained and de- 
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Wellesley graduates are in demand at this office. 
Forms and circulars sent free. Apply to 

HIRAM ORCUTT, rianager, 

3 Somerset St., Boston. 

\AZ0ir)eir)S lTJeelical feoiieqe 


Session '93 -'94 opens October 1st, 1893- Three years Graded Course. Instruction by Lectures, Clinics, 
Recitations and practical work, under supervision in Laboratories and Dispensary of College, and in U. S. 
Infirmary. Clinics and operations in most of the City Hospitals and Dispensaries open to Women Students. 
For Catalogues, etc., address 

321 East 15th Street, New York. 


She: When we got our wheels 
last year we didn't suppose there 
could be any better ones, did we ? 

He: No, but the '94's are ahead 
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riders. They are lighter because 
of the new Columbia seamless tub- 

She : The saddles are more com- 

He: And stronger, too. And 
these guards and break work will 
never let you catch your gown. 

She: Do you know what my 
gown is? The Columbia Bicycle 
habit. Redfern of New York de- 
signed it for the company, and it 
is just the thing. 


and instructor in riding. Free in- 
struction to purchasers. All orders 
promptly executed. Catalogues free 
on application. 

Wellesley College, Wel/esley. 

THE ATTENTION of students is called to our unrivalled line of 



NIGHT LAMPS, and that latest and daintiest of Parisian devices, the PRINCESS! LAMP. 



Opposite R. H. White & Co.'s. 

In every department of our store we allow Wellesley Pro- 
fessors and Students a discount, generally 

10 per cent. 

During the year you will notice many attractive goods which your friends at home would be 
glad to see. We shall be glad to send samples at your request. 

Dress Goods, Hosiery, Neckwear, Millinery, 
Underwear and Art Embroideries 

are perhaps some of the departments most interesting to students, but the discount applies to every 


Tremont Street and Temple Place - 


Ghas. W. Heara 

The Senior Class Photographer 

Of Wellesley College. 


392 Boylston Street, 

Boston, Mass. 

Would announce to students of Wellesley College that photo- 
graph lists of the Faculty and Officers of said College, as well 
as the senior students themselves are supplied upon request. 
Any) studuuts desiring to sit at Boston studio are given same 
rates as if made at Wellesley. 

toKm or eea/y 14© Tremont St. 
Csoaoway, n. v. ** BOSTON 

Pure, Fresh and 



A Choice Selection of Fancy Baskets, Boxes and 
Bonbonnieres constantly on hand at very reasonable 

Mail Orders given Prompt Attention.